How to Live with a Demigod 101
by Insanity's Servant
Summary: The Avengers have dis-Assembled and returned to their (somewhat) normal lives... until a superpower-less Loki shows up in Manhattan, and Director Fury designates Agent Clint Barton as a temporary demigod-sitter. Eventually, the whole team is brought back together in an effort to cope with the situation. Rated K-plus for explosions, insanity, and coffee abuse. Written by Alassiel.
1. Entry 1: Stark Tower

_Insanity's Servant was gracious enough to let me add How to Live with a Demigod 101 to her fanfiction archives. I'm Alassiel (Lassie) and am currently co-writing Case Red with Insanity. However, I thought it would be fun to put up some of my personal projects. This one is purely the result of too much caffeine and not enough sleep._

_Entries will be very short, but funny, and I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them._

_No real warnings to speak of - although Tony's alcohol addiction will be mentioned once or twice in later entries, it never takes center stage._

* * *

Entry #1: Stark Tower

"So if I pour the contents of this flask into that mixture of chemicals over there, it's going to cause an explosion? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"That is exactly what I am trying to tell you." Bruce Banner reached out and took the flask away from Tony Stark with a raised eyebrow. "Best not to test that here."

"Ah." Tony grabbed a handful of peanut-butter M&M's off the countertop and popped them all in his mouth. He resumed talking, this time around a mouthful of chocolate. "So you don't _know _if it will cause an explosion?"

"I have a fairly good idea."

"But this is a specialized, highly safe environment. I had this laboratory built with you in mind!" Tony reached out and took back the flask of bubbling blue chemicals.

"I try not to cause explosions of any kind," Bruce reminded him, holding out a rubber-gloved hand for the flask.

Tony took a few steps backward, swallowing the M&M's before pointing out, "We're wearing goggles."

"We're talking about a potential fireball."

"We have flame-resistant aprons on."

"I'm doubting that will prove very efficient should the entire laboratory go up in flames."

"Chill," Tony insisted, tipping the flask slightly on its side and grinning broadly behind his mask. "I just want to see what this does."

"Tony! Give me that!" Bruce snapped, swiping at the flask.

He missed, and hit Tony on the arm instead.

Both men went sprawling on the floor. The flask went flying across the laboratory and smashed into several other bottles that had been placed on the counter. There was a loud crash, and then several disturbing pops and sizzles.

Tony and Bruce both sat up and began scrambling for the door as hot pink sparks started jumping off of the counter and the spilled concoctions began to hiss.

"Out! Get out! See what you've done?!"

"It wasn't my fau—"

Tony choked as Bruce shoved him out the door, and then slammed it closed behind them. They both collapsed in the hallway.

There was a muffled _whump_ from the laboratory, and then a sound that resembled million elephants stampeding across a field of bubble-wrap. The metal around the door melted slightly.

Silence ensued.

"_Sir, I believe we have a slight malfunction in the south wing."_

"Jarvis?"

"_Yes, Sir."_

"Shut up."

* * *

_And there is my introduction to the world of fanfiction! _

_If you like it and want more, review ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	2. Entry 2: Manhattan

_I promised myself that if I got even ONE review on the first entry, I would upload the second. So, here it is! Short but sweet... (I love Clintasha)_

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Entry #2: Manhattan

"Well, that was fun."

Agent Clint Barton brushed more water out of his eyes and then squinted at his also-sopping-wet companion. "That's not quite the right word for it, Nat."

Natasha Romanoff shrugged her shoulders and shook out her wet hair, trying to coax it back into place. "Oh, relax. It was an accident."

"Accident? I _saw_ you tip that boat over!" exclaimed Clint, pointing a finger at Natasha. "You enjoyed watching me fall in!"

"You're supposed have peerless reflexes. What happened to them back there? You should have seen it coming before the boat was already doing a headstand in the water. And besides, I was only trying to get you to loosen up and have a little fun. You've been a grouch ever since SHIELD let us disband. This was supposed to be a happy day!"

Clint removed his water-logged jacket and began wringing it out like a dishrag. "Oh. So when you put cheese whiz in my boots before we left Stark Tower this morning, that was supposed to make my day happier?"

"But that was funny!"

"Right. Like the time you bought me that new hat and filled it with silly string."

Natasha snickered, and then put an arm around Clint's shoulders. "I only pull pranks on people I like," she reassured him. "You've never seen Nick Fury trying to get silly string out of _his_ hair."

Clint scowled. "He doesn't have any hair."

"Don't worry," Natasha consoled him. "I have something really good planned for this evening…"

Clint pulled away in a flash, crossing his arms and giving her a suspicious glare. "What?" he demanded.

"Dinner. At the best restaurant in Manhattan. I already made a 7:00 reservation. And I'm paying." Natasha gave Clint a triumphant smile, and he slowly began to smile back.

"Are you going to wear a nice dress?"

"Yes."

"And can I wear a bowtie?"

"You'll look dashing."

"And you'll pay for dessert, too?"

"Of course."

Clint straightened his damp shirt collar and smoothed his hair. "I feel better already." Then a disturbed expression crossed his face and he shifted his weight to his other foot, a clear sign of discomfort. "Er, Nat?"

"What's wrong?"

"Just promise me one thing."

Nodding solemnly, Natasha smiled up at him. "Anything you say."

"No whoopee cushions on the chair, please," he begged, turning a little red.

Natasha smirked, patting him on the back. "Not this time," she promised.

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_Review if you enjoyed it! ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	3. Entry 3: Stark Tower

Entry #3: Stark Tower

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice. I didn't mean to blow up the entire laboratory," Tony grumbled, pressing some buttons on his laptop. "We'll build a bigger one. A better one! One with cooler equipment. One with more computers. One with custom interior designed to withstand heat of up to 3,000 degrees."

"How about one with emergency evacuation ejector seats?" Bruce suggested with more than a touch of sarcasm. "Make mine with the Other Guy in mind, just in case you pull another stunt like that. I might get angry, you know."

"I thought you said you were always angry," pointed out Tony, stepping back and looking at the glowing, 3D model he had summoned from the computer screen.

At that moment, Jarvis's slightly-mechanical voice entered the room. _"Sir, you have a call coming in. It's Steve Rodgers."  
_  
"Captain Bling? What's he want?"

_"He says SHIELD wants you both back at base. It sounds urgent, Sir."  
_  
Tony smacked the desk with one hand and waved the 3D model out of existence with the other. "Why is he even communicating with SHIELD in the first place? I told him to keep them out of our hair, and to stay out of theirs. And don't tell me Nick Fury didn't buy the bit about the three of us going on a cruise in the Caribbean. That was ingenious. I even sent them a postcard."

_"Sir, he just put Agent Phil Coulson on the line."  
_  
Tony rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and began counting slowly backwards from one hundred.

Bruce stepped across the room, removing his glasses, and tapped the microphone. "I'll talk to him, Jarvis."

_"Thank you, Dr. Banner."  
_  
Several seconds later, Phil's slightly strained voice came through on the loudspeakers. _"Stark, we need you."  
_  
Tony kept his gaze on the ceiling and quipped, "Doesn't everyone?"

_"Stark, we're in the middle of a very important meeting."  
_  
"Who's 'we'?"

_"And I expect you to show up."  
_  
"Now?"

_"Now."  
_  
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever. How fast do you want me there?" Tony was already sauntering in the general direction of Mark VII.

_"Just be here within the hour, okay? And bring Dr. Banner."_

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_Review if you liked! The next one will be longer - promise. ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	4. Entry 4: SHIELD

Entry #4: SHIELD

"And the class has just arrived." Tony Stark swaggered into the office and sat down in the first chair in the row, tilting it back and putting his feet on the table. Dr. Banner walked in behind him and pulled out a chair as well, seating himself like a civilized person.

Steve looked up from his paper-work and nodded to Tony, who returned the greeting with a scowl. "What are you doing here, Rodgers?"

"My duty to cause and country," snapped the captain, already offended.

"Alright. Calm down, the both of you," ordered Director Fury, who was sitting across from the Avengers. He glared at them all with one steely eye, and then, pressing a button on the table, said loudly, "Agent Hill! Send in the others."

"Others?" Tony folded his arms behind his head. "Did you invite the whole neighborhood? Because I really—"

Tony suddenly fell silent as Agents Romanoff and Barton appeared in the doorway. He blinked in shock.

Natasha was wearing thick blue eye-shadow and a frightening color of lipstick. Her short waves of red hair had been pulled back from her face. Two dangling earrings hung at either side of her jaw. Perhaps most startling was the dress she was sporting: black, but with a pink sash around the waist—not to mention the equally hot-pink polka dots that bespeckled the dress itself.

Clint looked even more awkward (if possible), standing in the doorway and shifting his weight from foot to foot. His hair had been gelled and spiked, and he was wearing a tux. With a purple bowtie. And matching purple gloves. Fashionable, well-polished leather shoes replaced his usual boots, but a black jacket with a SHIELD emblem on the sleeves had been thrown on over the tuxedo. His trusty bow and quiver had also been hastily strapped to his back, completing the odd ensemble.

Tony got up from his chair and extended a hand. "The name's Stark. Tony Stark. You've probably heard of me. Have we met?"

"Not funny, Stark," Clint muttered, stalking toward the table and choosing a chair at the far end. What a night he had picked to express himself, he mused bitterly. It should have been a romantic evening out with Natasha. Then the SHIELD agents had shown up, dragged them from the restaurant, and brought them here, to be gawked at by Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Captain Rodgers. Things could hardly get any worse.

"Oh, it's you! What's with the outfit? Did you go disco-dancing?"

Clint glowered from his end of the table.

"Lighten up, Cupid. But please, do me a favor and seek help in the fashion department."

Before Hawkeye could leap across the table and throttle Tony Stark, Natasha crossed the room, her stilettos clacking on the polished tiles, and put a hand on his shoulder, taking a seat beside her would-be date.

Director Fury cleared his throat, obviously trying hard not to stare at Natasha and Clint. "Now that we're all here, I would like to address the issue of—"

Tony's hand shot up.

Nick sighed. "Yes, Mr. Stark."

"Do you have refreshments?" he asked innocently.

Giving him an intense glare, Nick declared, "No. There are no refreshments."

"Really? Cuz I could go for some peanut-butter M&M's right now..."

"No M&M's," growled Nick.

"A Klondike Bar, then," Tony suggested.

"No."

"Chocolate Mousse Tart?"

"No."

"Lindt Truffles. Those are good."

"NO!"

"…Celery sticks?"

"Have you anything to say that pertains to the matter at hand?" demanded Nick.

"Yes. SHIELD needs to upgrade their headquarters. Even a salad bar would be an improvement," Tony grumbled. "Pepper put me on a diet and I'm hungry. Are you sure we can't have snacks?"

With a heavy sigh, Nick pushed the button on the table again. "Agent Hill? Can you bring us some soda crackers?"

"And a shawarma!" yelled Tony.

"No. No shawarma, Hill," Nick interjected. "Just the soda crackers."

"And some pasta. I didn't have time to eat dinner," groused Clint.

"No pasta, Hill."

Captain Rodgers looked up. "She doesn't happen to have any fruit loops, does she? I just found out about them last night, and I want to try some."

"No fruit loops, Hill."

"I'd like cheese whiz. Lots and lots of cheese whiz…" Natasha joked, winking at Clint who glared coldly at her.

"Shawarma! I demand a shawarma! I'm starving!"

"No, no, why don't we get fruit loops instead?"

"Shawarma for the win!"

"Cheese whiz! Cheese whiz! Cheese—ahaha, Clint, don't you dare—EEK! CLINT, STOP IT—hahahaha!"

"Pasta!"

"Shawarma! And a beer!"

"Fruit loops!"

"Shawarma!"

"Fruit loops!"

"Shawarma!"

"CHEEZE WHIZ! Hahaha, Clint, stop it, I'm ticklish!"

"Pasta! I demand pasta! I paid for a $50.00 fettucini alfredo tonight after being promised a free meal, and only got to eat two bites before your SHIELD officials dragged us up here!"

"Shawarma!"

"Fruit loops!"

"Shawarma!"

"But I really want fruit loops!"

"_QUUUIIIIEEEEETTTTT!" _Nick Fury's voice thundered around the office with startling force. Silence instantly fell over the room.

"Thank you." Director Fury sighed, still holding down the button on the table. "…Hill?"

"_Yes, Director Fury?"_

"We need some soda crackers." Nick glanced at the five hungry Avengers staring at him with somewhat perturbed expressions. "Now."

"_Yes, Director Fury."_

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed this chapter... :) _

_Reviews are appreciated!_

_~Alassiel_


	5. Entry 5: Agent Fuzzwell goes AWOL

_Thank you for the reviews! They're very encouraging, and even though I can't reply directly, I do make sure I read them. ;)_

_Here's the next entry... Enjoy!_

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Entry #5: SHIELD [or, "Agent Fuzzwell Goes AWOL"]

Natasha was fiddling with an earring.

Clint was awkwardly readjusting his bowtie.

Steve was munching happily away on a soda cracker.

Bruce was studying a scratch on the counterpane.

The irritable Director was drumming his fingers on the hard surface and giving each Avenger his personalized Nick Like-A-Boss Fury death glare.

And Tony was staring dismally at the glass of chocolate milk sitting on the table before him. (MILK! Not wine, or tequila, or a martini, or even a lousy can of Keystone Ice—but _milk!_ Milk was for children, not Iron Man. Didn't SHIELD have any respect for its VIP guests?)

Finally, Nick spoke up. "May we proceed?"

When nobody responded—except the captain, who gave him a polite nod—Fury resumed his original thought: "It has come to the attention of certain persons affiliated with SHIELD that it may be necessary to establish some form of communication with Asgard. Certain disturbing occurrences and unconfirmed sightings have aroused suspicion as to the actual whereabouts of one extra-terrestrial criminal—"

Clint flinched.

"—and I think you all know who. I informed the Council that Dr. Banner and Mr. Stark would help our scientists construct an intergalactic—"

Tony glanced up, forgetting his stare-down with the glass of milk, and everyone in the room could sense his invisible hackles bristling. "Excuse me? Tell me I did not just hear that you _volunteered_ me for something…"

"Not 'volunteered', per se. You see—"

"No, I don't."

"Stark, you have your own laboratory facilities, don't you?"

"…"

"Yes, he does," supplied Bruce Banner. Tony shot him a dangerous glare.

"Excellent. Then I'm sure you can figure something out, since you're such a genius," growled Fury. "And I have no doubts that you can afford the research."

Natasha had stopped fiddling with her earring and was now staring at the wall, an expression somewhere between befuddlement and undiluted horror crossing her face. Clint elbowed her. "Nat?"

Every eyeball immediately focused on the pair of super-power-less-but-by-no-means-defenseless SHIELD agents.

"Nat?" he prodded again.

Natasha's face had turned an odd color of red, and she was sitting as still as a statue. "I think—I think—" She suddenly fumbled for the pocket of her dressy jacket. Seconds later, she withdrew an empty half-plastic half-wire-netting container that was a few centimeters bigger in diameter than a box of playing cards. For a moment, she remained speechless.

Then she whispered, "It's escaped."

And that's when Clint bolted.

It was impressive, really. He leaped onto and over the counter, scattered two piles of important documents, upset three chairs, and would have made it out the door in two seconds flat had Tony not reached out and grabbed the back of his jacket.

Fury narrowed his eyebrows in suspicion. "_What_ has escaped, Romanoff?"

She buried her face in her hands and cried in a muffled voice, "Mister Fuzzwell!"

The assembly all stared at Natasha with expressions that alternated between amused and mildly disturbed. Barring Clint, who just looked terrified.

Fury cleared his throat. "_Who_ is Mister Fuzzwell?"

Natasha groaned. "I found him in Brazil six months ago… and brought him back to the States with me… and fed him crickets every night… and took him with me to work every day… and now he's gone!"

By this point, everyone was looking uncomfortable to varying degrees. Even the unfazeable Nick Fury.

A strained, wheezing whisper made all heads turn in Clint's direction. "Did I mention that it's highly venomous?"

There were several exclamations of displeasure—including some vehement swearing on the part of Tony Stark—and everyone suddenly began scanning the walls and floor for anything small and deadly.

"What is it?!" demanded Nick, extremely perturbed.

"_Phoneutria Arachnida,"_ Natasha clarified, glancing up with another hot blush.

"A spider," translated Bruce, looking somewhat interested. "How fascinating."

"Spider? Where?!" Tony actually began doing an emergency self-appraisal then and there: running his hands through his short hair, brushing imaginary spiders from his jeans, and ripping off his jacket. He then proceeded to shake it out violently, as if expecting to find a disgusting arachnid lurking within its flawless designer folds. Before he could start removing his shoes, however, Fury stepped in.

"I strongly suggest we all vacate the premises and call in an exterminator. And Romanoff!" he bellowed. "I'll have a talk with you later!"

Everybody realized the sense in his words and scrambled for the door.

Then Natasha shrieked. The sound was so unexpected and so uncustomarily high-pitched that the Avengers all turned to look at the distraught SHIELD agent. "Clint!"

Clint Barton turned deathly pale.

"Clint, it's on your jacket!" yelped Natasha. "Don't move…"

* * *

_By now you all know that I enjoy picking on Clint. :)_

_Please review!_

_~Alassiel_


	6. Entry 6: Avengers Disassemble

_Thanks for your reviews! :)_

_Here's the next entry..._

* * *

Entry #6: SHIELD [or, "Avengers Disassemble"]

As it turned out, telling Clint to freeze was in vain. Sheet white and shaking like a leaf, he fainted dead away several seconds later and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Normally, someone would have caught him before he hit the tiles, but under the circumstances, no one wanted to risk getting bitten by the feared Banana Spider (or _Phoneutria Arachnida, _which sounds much more deadly).

Natasha was the first one to cautiously approach the still body of Clint, her eyes glued to the dark spot on his jacket. When she got within a foot of him, Nat stared for about a minute in complete silence. Then she visibly relaxed and reached out to touch the menacing object on Clint's SHIELD jacket, ignoring shouts of "No!" and "Don't do that!"

She picked it up and let it dangle from her fingertips for a moment, turning to face the small congregation that had retreated to a safer corner of the office. Her explanation was short, said with zero enthusiasm, and accompanied by a disappointed scowl: "Lint."

The room was immediately filled with groans of relief, frustration, and despair.

"The guy oughtta empty the filter in his dryer once in a while," groused Steve, not amused in the slightest.

And Stark, for once – likely due to the intense amount of fear and shock he had recently experienced – was deprived of a really, truly, snarky remark.

"Excuse me." The voice was so mellow and unassuming that the rest of the Avengers barely heard the words. They turned around to see Bruce with his hand on the bottom of an upside down, empty water-glass that was resting on the table. "I believe I've captured your escapee, Agent."

True enough, there was a largish, hairy brown spider crouched in its makeshift prison.

"Mister Fuzzwell!"

Tony made a loud gagging noise as Natasha dashed across the room – stilettos and all – and peered beyond the glass barricade at the fuzzy, _ugly_ arachnid within. "Thank you Dr. Banner."

"You're very welcome, Agent Romanoff."

Half a minute later, Mr. Fuzzwell was back in his firmly-latched "carrying case" and tucked safely away in Natasha's pocket.

Clint was still passed out on the floor.

Tony and Cap managed to hoist him into a chair and (sort of) prop him upright, even going so far as to fold his hands on the table and turn his head in the general direction of Director Fury. "Just in case he can still hear us!" explained Tony with a characteristic smirk.

When everyone was seated, Director Fury resumed his chair at the head of the table and sighed. Heavily. "May I have your attention… again."

Every Avenger except Hawkeye looked up at him.

"Thank you. Stark, Banner, can I count on you?"

"Yes, Sir," Bruce supplied.

Tony acquiesced as well, and then grumbled some things that were less than complimentary.

"Excellent. Avengers…er…disassemble." Fury gave himself a mental facepalm. That hadn't come out quite right, but nobody laughed at him.

…Nobody _ever_ laughed at Director Fury.

* * *

_Review if it made you laugh! ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	7. Entry 7: Manhattan

_Thank you all SO much for the wonderful reviews on the last few chapters! It's very encouraging - Hugs to all of you! _

_And now for the arrival of my favorite character... Enjoy!_

* * *

Entry #7: Manhattan

The sky was darkening. Partly cloudy with a chance of rain.

Loki was in a stormy mood as well: mostly angry with a chance of pain… and the black glares he gave the pedestrians made most of them veer out of the way to avoid him, or cross to the other side of the street. "Mortals," he grumbled. "Weaklings. Underlings. Peasants. They should be my subjects! They should be worshipping me like the god I am! They should be bowing before me at this very moment!"

But nobody did, of course. Because Loki had no powers. Loki had no magic. Loki had no fine attire (just some revolting mortal-style clothes). And worst of all, Loki had no home.

Stupid brother.

This had been _his_ brilliant idea: "Let's send Loki back to Midgard! He can 'cool his heels' there, as the mortals say… not quite sure what that meant, but it sounded appropriate."

And Odin had agreed. After all, it _had _worked on Thor, hadn't it?

_Only because you are WEAK. I am NOT weak. I am, in fact, MUCH more worthy of a throne than YOU, Brother. _But Loki hadn't said any of that out loud, as he had no desire to dig himself a deeper grave of humiliation and defeat.

A small building with the word "Starbucks" across the door caught his eye, and he moseyed toward it, hungry and thirsty and hoping that there would be something to eat there. Not that he had any money or anything to barter with, of course. Odin had made sure he had sent his adoptive son away with empty pockets.

Stalking in the door (which made an annoyingly cheerful dinging sound when it opened) Loki stomped to a table in the far corner and seated himself in one of the small, worthless metal chairs. How unlike the kingly throne he had envisioned himself sitting on at this time only a month ago.

Before he could blink, the door dinged again, and this time two mortals filed in, one after the other. The male was keeping quite a distance between himself and the shorter female, Loki noticed with some amusement.

"Nat, I swear you are going to pay for that. Why did you tell me it was that stupid spider before taking a closer look? Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?!"

The woman he had called 'Nat' had her back turned to Loki by now—both of them did, actually—and she looked slightly familiar. She replied in a cool, even tone of voice. "I had no idea you were going to faint in front of everyone."

"Ssshh!" The man elbowed his female partner and shot her an angry glare. The instant his face was turned toward Loki again, the demigod's large green eyes nearly popped out of his head. Agent Clint Barton! What was he doing in a coffee shop in the middle of Manhattan? And Loki would bet anything that his redhead companion was Natasha Curse-Her-Lying-Heart Romanoff. He was still harboring a grudge against both of them, but quickly realized that they probably wouldn't be thrilled to see _him_, either. Especially Barton.

The SHIELD agent was without his trusty bow and quiver, but still dangerous, as Loki well knew. Having been inside that man's mind gave him special insight as to what physical prowess the former assassin possessed.

There was only one thing to do.

Hide under the table.

And so, the mighty Loki Laufeyson, Would-Be King, Slayer of Mortals, and Master of Magic glanced frantically around the room to make sure no one was looking at him, and then chose the nearest of the few actual booths that lined the wall. In less than two seconds he had ensconced himself under the table, as close to the wall as he could squeeze his tall frame.

Feeling sneaky and somewhat proud of his ability to improvise, Loki lurked beneath the table and watched them from the safety of his new makeshift fortress.

"Just coffee. Black coffee. Really _dark _black coffee," grumbled Clint, still glaring at Natasha.

"One Caramel Macchiato, please," Natasha requested in a much more pleasant tone of voice. Once they had been handed two steaming foam cups, the assassin grabbed Clint's sleeve and dragged him toward—oh horror of horrors—Loki's hiding place. For a moment, he was sure they had seen him, but when they began sliding into the booth, he decided that was probably not the case. Unfortunately, he had to press himself as far against the wall as possible in order to avoid being kicked by the two agents. As it was, Clint's boot was almost toe-to-toe with Loki's.

They began speaking, both in whispers. "Clint, are you sure you're okay? You hit the floor pretty hard."

Clint grumbled something unintelligible and drummed his fingers on the table-top, right over Loki's head. "I'm _fine. _But which one of those morons had the bright idea to wake me up by pouring a bucket of ice water on my face?"

"Actually, that was me."

"I thought so."

"You're not mad, are you? I had no idea that it was just a piece of lint. It could very possibly have been Mister Fuzzwell."

Loki made a face, arching one eyebrow and rolling his eyes upward as if could look through the bottom of the table and see Natasha and Clint having their very interesting face-off. _Mr. Fuzzwell?_

"Nat, there's nothing 'fuzzy' or 'well' about a Banana Spider, and if that thing gets out of its box one more time, somebody is going to face serious consequences: you, or Mister Fuzzwell. Preferably both."

A smirk crept across Loki's face. Arachnophobia? That was one thing he had not managed to pry from Clint's memories. How amusing.

"Oh, Clint. It's just a spider."

"Just a very _dangerous _spider. And where did you get that ridiculous name?"

"Clint…"

"Someday that thing is going to kill me, and then you'll be sorry."

"Clint!"

"What?"

"Drink your coffee."

For several moments there was relative silence. Loki gauged the distance between the table and the door, wondering if he should make a run for it, but before he could do so, Nat stepped on him. He had braced both palms against the floor, preparing to crawl out from beneath the table and dash for the exit. Obviously that had been a bad idea, because the female mortal was wearing high heels, and one of them nearly punctured the back of his hand.

Loki released a muffled grunt of pain, and then instinctively recoiled. However, there was no more room to scoot back and he ended up bonking his head on the underside of the table.

Natasha and Clint both yelled and automatically tried to get into their hard-learned defensive postures, but that proved to be rather difficult since they were both sitting down with their knees under the table. All in all, Loki received several partially-unintentional kicks to the face and a rude jab in his ribcage (thanks to Nat's high heels).

As soon as both agents had vacated the booth, Clint bent down to inspect the underside of the table. When his eyes met Loki's, he froze for a moment, and then yelled at the top of his lungs, "NAT! IT'S HIM! THE – THE DEMIGOD, LULU!"

Loki frowned, and then (as gracefully as possible under the circumstances) wriggled out from beneath the table and rose to his feet. "Actually, it's 'Loki,'" he corrected, annoyed by the mispronunciation.

Everybody in the coffee shop was either staring at the three of them with concerned looks, or evacuating the building as quickly as possible.

Both of the agents were glowering at him suspiciously. He knew they remained ignorant of his powerless state. That could work to his advantage. "Let me go, and I won't kill you," he offered.

"Come with us, and this situation doesn't have to get any uglier," Natasha countered, reaching up to tap her earpiece. "Director Fury? He's back."

_"Who's back?"  
_  
"The demigod. Lulu," she added, smirking at Loki.

_"Romanoff, I hope you know this is not April Fools Day."  
_  
"I'm serious. He's in custody as I speak."

Loki glared. What did they know? Silly little mortals…

Clint marched across the room, looking fit to kill, and Loki backed away. That was obviously a mistake. Clint sensed his trepidation and grabbed his arm, towing him across the coffee shop and out the door with Natasha trailing close behind. "Don't try anything funny, or you won't have time to regret it," warned Clint as he ungraciously shoved Loki into Nat's bright red sports car and climbed in after him.

That particular model was certainly not intended to seat three people, and the demigod ended up being uncomfortably squished between Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. And he had no seatbelt, of course: the first time the car stopped at a light, he immediately did a faceplant into the dashboard.

Loki thought his day could not possibly get any worse.

* * *

_Please review! :)_

_~Alassiel_


	8. Entry 8: In Which Loki Gets a Babysitter

_I've been loving all the reviews and favorites, and confess that I feel quite spoiled! __Thank you for taking an interest in my story - your support is much appreciated. :)_

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Entry #8: SHIELD [In Which Loki Gets a Baby-sitter]

"Well, now what do we do with him?"

The usually calm and unruffled voice of the SHIELD Director now sounded tired, annoyed, and—surprisingly—a little bit nervous.

"You could feed him," Loki suggested, sounding as suave as usual. "The god of mischief has not eaten in over twenty-four hours."

"You stay out of this!" insisted Clint, turning red in the face and shaking a fist at the tall, pale person who was currently relaxing in the comfiest chair available. His hands were tied together, but he had folded them behind his head rather awkwardly and couldn't seem to wipe the irritating smirk off his mouth. Clint would have been more than happy to do it for him, but didn't dare. Not in front of the Director.

"The god of mischief would also appreciate more civilized behavior from the opposing party," added Loki with a stoic glare.

"And stop referring to yourself in third person!"

"Alright, that'll be enough outta you two," warned the Director, rubbing his forehead and glaring at them from across the table. "Since the prisoner seems to be lacking his otherworldly powers—"

Loki scowled.

"—we will keep him in containment for a day or two, and then simply assign one of our top agents to keep an eye on him 24/7."

Clint immediately began shaking his head. "Who?"

"You."

There was a pause, during which everyone in the room (excepting Nick Fury) assumed an expression of complete surprise and slight revulsion.

"I object," Loki declared, raising a finger but not bothering to get up from the easy chair.

"Same here," growled Clint, stalking toward Director Fury. "Get someone else to do it. I've seen enough of this extra-terrestrial lunatic to last me a lifetime."

"Then it's all settled," Nick finished, ignoring Clint's death-glare and Loki's insulted look. "Expect a guest at 3:30 on Friday. Until then, Mr. Loki—"

"Laufeyson."

"Mr. Laufeyson," Nick corrected himself without missing a beat, "if you will kindly come with me to the detention level?"

Loki rose to his feet, not looking at all in a hurry, and slunk toward the door. He threw an evil grin over his shoulder at Clint, who promptly reached over _his_ shoulder for his bow. He would likely have impaled the god of mischief with an arrow had Natasha not grabbed his wrist. "Chill, Clint," she advised.

Clint did not "chill," still extremely put out and red in the face, but he did refrain from harming Loki. "Nat, I can't do this. I live in a one-story house in the New York suburbs! And that's when I'm not on a mission for Fury!"

"Loki IS your mission," Nat reminded him. "And if it will make you feel any better, I'll spend the first few nights on the living room couch. You look like you need some support."

"You take the guest bedroom. Lulu gets the couch," grumbled Clint. "Or the floor. I don't care which."

"Look," Nat soothed him, patting him on the back. "You have two days to prepare. We'll get the Avengers together and help prep your house. Deal?"

Clint grumbled something indecipherable.

"Good." Nat gave him one more hefty pat on the back and stalked out of the room, leaving him to sulk in peace.

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_Review for more! ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	9. Entry 9: The Great M&M Fiasco

_Thanks for the reviews! Here's the next entry - I decided to post it a little earlier than usual. Enjoy!_

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Entry #9: Stark Tower [or, "The Great M&M Fiasco"]

"He did _what_?" Tony sounded completely incredulous as he held his personal cell phone to his ear. Bruce stared at him with a questioning gaze from behind his safety goggles. "…Well, actually, I wouldn't put anything past Fury. …Are you sure you don't need help? …What? …Of course we wouldn't blow up your house! We are two extremely knowledgeable, tremendously capable scientific geniuses. We could have your home Loki-proofed in minutes. … 'Over-qualified'? OK, I'll go for that. But why do I get the feeling that you just don't want us around? …Oh, really? Who?" There was a short pause, and then Tony smirked. "Right. Of course. I'm sure Nat is much better equipped to handle the situation than Dr. Banner or the indispensable Iron Man. Knock yourselves out. …Yeah, you take care of yourself too, lover-boy. Just call us if you need any back-up."

With a dubious sigh, Tony placed the cell phone on the counter and reached for the bag of M&Ms. "And so the horned wonder returns," he mused, smirking again. He had been hard-pressed to cease laughing at Clint's narration of Loki's exploits at STARBUCKS. Especially the hiding-under-the-table bit. "But under the most mundane circumstances."

"And probably without the horns," added Bruce, using a stirring rod to mix the contents of an ominously hissing, transparent beaker. A clearish purple liquid bubbled within.

Tony removed one plastic glove and reached into the bag of M&Ms just as a loud beep startled both men.

"_Sir?"_ Jarvis's British tones entered the room. _"Miss Potts has just arrived. She would like to come in, and has expressed her extreme displeasure at 'the two of you' remaining locked up in this laboratory for over twelve hours."_

Suddenly panicked, Tony glanced at the bag of M&Ms in his hand and then looked furtively around the room. "Tell her she can't come in."

"…_She seems quite adamant, Sir."_

"Tell her there are toxic fumes in here, and if she comes in without a mask, she'll implode."

"… _She didn't believe me, Sir."_

"Tell her we're busy."

"… _Apparently she is under the impression that she is more important than your current endeavors."_

Tony looked both miffed and amused. "Tell her—"

"_Sir, sorry to interrupt, but she has once again demanded you open the door, and also wants to know whether you enjoyed the vegetable tray she left for you on the kitchen counter this morning."_

Tony cringed at that. He assumed it would be unsafe to admit that he had dumped the whole thing in the trash and grabbed a cup of coffee and a doughnut. "Tell her it was interesting." (It _had_ been interesting. At least, interesting to stare at and wonder how the heck Pepper expected him to survive all morning on carrots, celery, tomatoes, and a very unappetizing-looking plant that he had been unable to identify).

"She would like to come in, Sir," Jarvis restated.

"Okay, okay… just… one moment!" Tony snatched the beaker from Banner—who made a choked sound of protest—and dumped the entire bag of M&M's into the experiment. Then he stuffed the empty bag in his pocket. "Unlock the door, Jarv."

Several seconds later, the door opened and Pepper stepped in, a very suspicious look on her face. One hand was behind her back. When she held it up for the two men to see, a wilted lettuce leaf dangled between her thumb and pointer finger. "I found this—and quite a few other edible delights—abandoned in the trash can."

Tony facepalmed with his free hand. "I should have dumped them in the incinerator."

At that moment, something very strange happened. The beaker Tony was holding let out an odd pop, and something flew upwards and splatted against the ceiling: a bloated, purple M&M.

Pepper looked up in alarm, and then covered her mouth with her hand. It was unclear whether she was laughing or scowling. "Tony! What is that?" Then she leaned down to peer at the beaker. Eight purple-dyed M&Ms were zipping around in the foamy mixture like minnows in a pond. "Alright. Where's the—"

She was interrupted by a dizzying series of pops, snaps, splats, and gurgles as the beaker practically exploded with inflated M&Ms. They went flying in every direction, some sticking to the ceiling, some splattering across Pepper's new dress, and some launching themselves all the way across the room to plaster themselves on the walls. Tony dropped the beaker, throwing himself to the floor and army-crawling under the counter with Pepper close behind. Banner ran for the door, screaming something about a "stress-filled environment."

In the end, the entire lab appeared to be covered in purple, chocolatey goo, and Pepper's dress was completely ruined. Before Pepper could lecture him about the M&Ms, Tony began, "Let me explain. We're doing… research… on, um, M&Ms. As a possible weapon."

Pepper glared at Tony, apparently lost for words.

Tony shrugged, removing his goggles and blinking at the CEO of Stark Industries. "…I think it was a success."

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_I do so love the misadventures of Tony Stark! _

_Hope you enjoyed it, too. ;) If so, r__eview!_

_~Alassiel_


	10. Entry 10: The Demigod Moves In

_Thank you for all the awesome reviews! ;)_

_And now I would like to mention something that I probably should have said earlier - when I write entries, I listen to the soundtrack "Sound Advice" from While You Were Sleeping (hilarious movie!). I find it very offbeat and funny, and I think it might add an extra note of comedy if you wanted to check it out. Something like that should not make or break a story, but I find it helpful to listen to when I work on _How to Live with a Demigod 101_, since I practically eat, sleep and breathe music anyway. _

_That aside, enjoy the next entry! _

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Entry #10: Manhattan [or, "The Demigod Moves In"]

Clint paced back and forth in front of the door, obviously anxious.

Natasha watched from the couch, slightly concerned.

"Look! Out the window! Is that him?!" Clint panicked for the umpteenth time as a black car rumbled past. No SHIELD emblem graced the side, nor did it slow down. Also, upon closer inspection, he realized that it was not an Acura like the one Phil drove. Clint puffed his cheeks out with air and then heaved a sigh, resuming his endless trek up and down the front hallway.

Natasha finally stood and grabbed his arm. "Stop. Pacing."

"I have to cope with my nerves!" Clint explained, somehow managing to look both exhausted and hyperactive.

"Then sit down and I'll make you a cup of chamomile tea or something. But just… stop. You're upsetting _me_," Natasha accused, forcefully seating him on the couch. "Breathe. It'll be fine. All doors and windows now either lock from the outside or can only be opened with a key and a voice code. You have the key in your pocket. We've relocated anything extremely breakable to SHIELD headquarters. And after all, I'll be spending the first few nights here. It's not like I'm abandoning you. We make an amazing team. We are a force to be reckoned with. Right?"

"…Right," Clint mumbled, wryly amused.

"Right," affirmed Natasha. "Now, I'll go make that cup of tea while you just sit right here and rela—"

The door-bell rang.

Clint paled and appeared ready to pass out on the couch.

"I'll get it," Natasha volunteered with a surprising amount of calmness. "Excuse me."

When she unlocked and opened the door, she was greeted by two strikingly different individuals: Agent Phil Coulson, looking calm, collected, and business-like in his usual suit and tie; and Loki the god of mischief, tall, pale, and utterly disdainful. When their eyes met, he scowled, probably remembering their last little face-off.

Natasha smirked. "Phil! Would you like to stay for tea?" she invited, ignoring the demigod.

Phil shook his head with a tight smile. "No, thank you. I have other matters to attend to. The thought was nice, though," he admitted, handing Natasha the key to Loki's handcuffs. "Well, here's the juvenile delinquent. Call me if there are any problems."

"I will," Natasha promised, opening the door a little wider to let Loki through. Still handcuffed, he sauntered into the front room as if he owned the place. "And… thank you," Natasha added gratefully. Phil winked and started to walk back to the black SHIELD Acura as Nat closed the door, locking it once more. Then she turned to face the very awkward scene unfolding in the family room.

Loki was standing the middle of the floor, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed as he stared down Agent Clint Barton, who had made a miraculous transformation from the distraught little kid to the steely-eyed man. No trace of anxiety remained on his face, and he glared back with equal passion. He had somehow spread himself out over the cushions in such a way as to leave no room for anyone else to sit down. His boots were resting on one armrest, and the back of his head on another. "Beat it, Lulu," he growled. "Go sit in the chair over there."

Loki shifted his weight to the other foot and gave Agent Barton a very small, very disturbing smirk. "I would prefer to sit on the couch, if you don't mind."

"I do."

"Oh, really?"

"Really."

"Well then perhaps you would show me to my living quarters," Loki suggested with such a degree of ingratiating politeness that Natasha had to hide a wry smile.

"You're lookin' at it, Big Guy," Clint informed him, patting the side of the couch with one hand.

Loki's expression soured rapidly. "…the couch?" he inquired in a disbelieving tone. The look on his face read plainly, _You must be mistaken._

"You catch on fast," grumbled Clint.

"Alright boys, break it up," Natasha intervened smoothly, walking between them toward the kitchen. "Perhaps one of you would be so kind as to help me make the tea?"

There really wasn't much TO making tea, but Clint jumped on the idea and leaped up from the couch, following her into the kitchen like an anxious puppy. "I'll do it!"

Loki didn't argue. He simply sat down on the couch and folded his hands in his lap, peering at his surroundings with an unsettling amount of interest.

Once Clint and Natasha were alone in the kitchen, Clint unraveled completely. "HE'S IN MY HOUSE! HE'S IN MY HOUSE!" He clenched his fists and covered his eyes with them. "HE'S GOING TO DESTROY MY ENTIRE WEEKEND! HE'S GOING TO KILL FLUFFY! HE'S GOING TO DEFACE MY LIVING ROOM! HE'S GOING TO BE _SLEEPING ON MY COUCH!_"

Natasha was not overwhelmed in the slightest by this display of hysterics. She filled the kettle with tap water and put it on the stove. "Calm down, Clint. Yes, he's in your house. Yes, he'll be here all weekend… and probably longer than that. But you can't let him ruin your entire life. Oh, and I really doubt he's going to kill Fluffy," she reassured him, massaging his back with one hand. "But if it bothers you that he's sleeping on your couch, why don't you just chain him to the furnace in the basement?"

Clint suddenly perked up. "Really? Do you think I should?"

Natasha glared at him. "That was sarcasm."

Grumbling profanities, Clint opened the cupboard above the sink and grabbed a box of teabags. "Mmmhhmmgghrrr…"

"Loosen up. Maybe Loki's attitude will improve with a nice cup of chamomile tea," Natasha suggested. _With any luck, yours will too… heaven help me if it doesn't._

"Yeah. Right." But Clint dutifully selected three teabags and stood by with them while Natasha poured hot water into three teacups.

When they reentered the living room, Loki was still seated on the couch, looking—Natasha decided—rather like an enormous cat: regal, vain, and annoyingly aloof.

He arched an eyebrow at the teacups, but said nothing.

"Tea," Natasha explained. "Don't you have that in Asgard?" More than a tinge of sarcasm flavored her words. Before she could hand Loki his tea, Clint grabbed the pink one with the lacey little flower design and offered it to the demigod.

Loki's expression did not change one bit as he accepted the cup of chamomile and slowly raised it to his lips. Clint appeared to be cringing: this revolting creature that had once stolen his mind had now also stolen his couch! And was drinking out of his teacups! And was resting his feet on his—

"Hey!" Clint immediately bristled. "Get your boots off my coffee table!"

Loki slowly lifted his gaze to stare at Clint. "Why?" he asked slowly, taking another sip of tea.

"Because it cost me 2,000 dollars, that's why!" Clint growled. "Get 'em off!"

Nat gave Loki a warning glare, and the demigod had the good sense to comply. There would be plenty of other ways to aggravate, irritate, abrade, exasperate, provoke, and otherwise cause mental anguish to Clint Barton.

Clint accepted the teacup offered to him by Natasha and drank his standing up. No way was he sitting down next to that abhorrent mischief maker.

Natasha sat on the arm of the couch and watched the two males with a wary eye. It was a good thing she was there, Nat decided with a slight nod. _Someone_ had to referee.

Nevertheless, she could tell that this was going to be a very, very long weekend…

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_A good friend of mine noted that my Clint is quite different from the Clint in The Avengers - but I reminded him that as the writer, I do have an artistic license: while the typical portrayal of Clint might be a sight more austere, with fewer ornate teacups and no panic attacks, this IS a comedy. I've just tried to bring out the funny in all these beautiful characters. ;)_

_Please review! _

_~Alassiel_


	11. Entry 11: Captain America, Errand Boy

_Hello, all! Once again, thank you so much for your support! I wasn't sure whether this story would be well-received, but your reviews and favorites are encouraging. __To everybody who commented on Fluffy: yes, just as you had always secretly suspected, Clint really_ is _just a big impressionable teddy bear. ;) Fear not, Fluffy will be included in upcoming chapters. _

_As you know, the entire team will eventually come together, but until then I'm going to keep in touch with each Avenger. This next entry is for any and all fans of Captain America (myself included)..._

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Entry #11: SHIELD [In Which Captain America Goes to Walmart]

"I'm sorry, what?"

"_I said, 'Didn't Hill give you a list?'"_

"No, actually… she just shoved me out the door and demanded that I be back by noon."

There was some grumbling and several naughty words on the other end of the line, and Steve cringed, holding the cell phone away from his ear slightly. He would have a talk to the director about morality and preserving the English language later. Now was obviously not a good time. _"Well, I have a list on my desk,"_ Nick finally grunted. _"Try to remember everything. I'll read it off to you: eggs, rice milk—because I'm lactose intolerant—some Earth Balance butter-spread—the soy-free stuff, I'm allergic to that too; make sure you pay attention, or I'll have the sniffles for a week—iceberg lettuce, whole-grain bread, angel hair pasta—make sure it's angel hair—low sodium tomato sauce, Golden Delicious apples—don't get Fuji apples, those things taste like wet cardboard—cheerios, GoLean Crunch for Hill—I detest GoLean Crunch—some bacon—any brand will do—apples, bananas, artichoke hearts, Smucker's Strawberry Jam, organic peanut-butter—_"

Nick rambled on, attaching his personal opinions to every other food item, and Captain Steve Rogers listened with growing dismay as the list grew. He ended with, _"And please buy everything in mass quantities. As in, walk out with as much as you can reasonably carry. We have an entire government agency to feed."_

"Yes Sir, Director Fury," Steve said weakly. "I'll be back in an hour."

"_Good."_

Flipping his cell phone shut, Steve pocketed the device and grabbed a cart, pushing it through the sliding doors and walking into Walmart. He took a deep breath and ran through his mental list once again. "Okay. Milk. At least I know what _that_ is…" He had no idea what Nick had meant by "Earth Balance" or "GoLean Crunch", but he figured he would find everything else reasonably quickly.

The cereal aisle was easiest to find, and he scanned the list of names for anything that sounded remotely like what Nick had mentioned. Aha! GoLean Crunch. Into the basket went seven boxes of cereal. And the Cheerios. Those looked extra good, so he added two extra boxes of that.

He was about to leave the aisle when he noticed some bold letters out of the corner of his eye: FROOT LOOPS.

Blinking, he stopped the cart and stared for a moment.

Alright. Nick Fury had said nothing about "fruit loops," but he just had to get some of those.

One box landed in the shopping cart, and Steve continued perusing the various aisles. He had to ask employees for advice several different times, but finally found almost everything on his mental list. Except the Earth Balance butter-spread. There was none of that left, so he got some Earth Balance coconut-spread instead. Hopefully it would suffice.

By the end of his little adventure, he was lugging around four shopping carts and a basket, which earned him some priceless looks from the other shoppers.

It took over half an hour to check out, what with all the food Steve had in tow, and by the time he had loaded everything into SHIELD's enormous van, it was already 11:30.

He had half an hour to get back to headquarters.

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_Hope you enjoyed this entry! Review... ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	12. Entry 12: In Hot Water

_Muchas gracias for the reviews! _

_As to the identity of Fluffy, I'm afraid that will have to remain a secret until a later date. ;) __In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this next entry! It's my favorite so far._

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Entry #12: Manhattan [or, "In Hot Water"]

Clint woke up to the sound of running water. _What on earth…?_ Oh. Nat was probably in the shower. Why did his personal living quarters have to be right next to the bathroom? Although he usually lived alone, so it was not typically a problem.

Yes, that was definitely Nat: he could hear her belting out the lyrics to some Russian song he didn't really recognize.

With a resigned sigh, Clint rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the closet. At a loss for something to wear, he simply grabbed his SHIELD uniform and began to dress himself. That would work in a pinch. It wasn't as if he was leaving the house, anyway. He had a demigod to babysit.

Still only half-awake, Clint ran a hand through his short hair and opened the door, stepping out into the hallway. He had made a pact with himself not to fall asleep, fearing what mayhem Loki might cause in the middle of the night, but he had unintentionally broken his vow. Fortunately, everything appeared to be intact.

With a sigh, the semi-conscious agent meandered down the hall toward the kitchen, hungry and grumpy and in dire need of a shower which he would not be getting that morning.

Wearily taking a bowl from the cupboard and pouring himself some cereal, Clint grabbed a spoon and trekked from the kitchen to the dining room.

Someone else was already there.

Loki sat in the chair nearest to the window, an identical bowl resting before him on the table. He looked up as Clint walked in, and gave him a frighteningly cheerful smile. "Good morning."

Clint stopped, stared, and blinked sleepily at the demigod. Loki had changed out of the black 'prison clothes' SHIELD had given him and was now wearing Clint's favorite T-shirt (the one with the words "Instant Human: Just Add Coffee" on it) and a pair of Clint's very-expensive-professionally-distressed blue jeans.

Loki waved with his spoon, and then shoveled in another mouthful of Raisin Bran. Clint fumed, clenched his hands, made a face, counted backwards from ten, and then very carefully set his bowl down on the table, taking a seat directly opposite from the god of mischief. "How," he growled, glaring across the table, "did you break into my closet? You're not supposed to have any super-villain-powers anymore!"

Still smiling pleasantly, Loki poured more milk into his bowl. "They weren't in your closet. They were in the tiny little room at the back of the house."

Clint mentally facepalmed. The laundry room! Of course! The one door they had neglected to put a lock on. After all, they had decided, what mischief could Loki conjure with two mundane stationary appliances and a box of laundry detergent? He had not taken time to consider the possibility of Loki stealing his clothes.

The demigod's long black hair was damp and plastered to the sides of his face. Obviously Natasha had not been the only one to take a shower that morning.

As if Loki knew exactly what Clint was thinking, he said smoothly, "You should know that I used up the last of the shampoo, and also quite inadvertently depleted a bottle of that lovely raspberry-scented 'skin moisturizer' that was sitting on the counter. I assumed you wouldn't mind, since we will be sharing this house for some time."

Clint actually performed a literal facepalm this time, groaning. "You better pay for more shampoo. That was a new bottle! How much did you use?" Then he interrupted himself to add, "And the raspberry body lotion's _definitely_ not mine… I think you just robbed Natasha Romanoff."

Loki shrugged, taking another bite of cereal.

At that moment, a muffled, angry, female voice found its way into the kitchen: "WHEN I FIND OUT WHO USED UP ALL THE HOT WATER SOMEONE IS GOING TO PAY AND IT WON'T BE PRETTY!"

Clint flinched, and Loki stared blankly across the table at him with wider-than-normal green eyes. Clint was not quite sure if this expression simply conveyed some slight surprise at the volume of Natasha's usually subdued voice, or hinted at a completely reasonable fear of what the redheaded SHIELD agent was capable of at 7:30 AM after a freezing-cold shower (and no raspberry skin moisturizer to boot).

Although Natasha's tone of voice somehow managed to strike terror into Clint's heart as well, he realized that he was in the clear and grinned widely at Loki, who had reverted to his usual stoic expression.

"If I were you," Clint advised, "I'd start working on an apology right now. A very long one. With lots of groveling and begging."

Loki did not look at all amused.

* * *

_An angry Russian assassin and a demigod that smells of raspberries... Welcome to the new and chaotic life of Agent Clint Barton!_

_~Alassiel_


	13. Entry 13: Got Coffee?

Entry #13: Stark Tower [or, "Got Coffee?"]

At precisely 1:45 in the morning, Tony Stark had finished inspecting his upgraded laboratory (newly de-M&M'd) and was satisfied that all was still in working order. When he left, he headed straight for his humongous kitchen… only to find that Pepper had removed any and all delectable treats from the refrigerator and the multiple pantries.

"Jarvis," warned Tony. "I trust you had nothing to do with this?"

"Sir, you were quite busy in your laboratory, and I tried to tell you."

"You should have tried harder!" Tony wailed, throwing open all of the cupboards and then looking under the sink. He even crawled beneath the table—goodness knows what he thought he would find under there.

"You threatened to reprogram me, Sir."

With a bestial growl, Tony wriggled out from under the table and began to scour the pantries for the second time. "WHERE IS THE FOOD?"

Jarvis's artificial voice sounded slightly amused. If an AI system could be amused. "In the kitchen, Sir."

"No, no, no, no, NO! I mean _food_, not bran muffins and vegetables!" explained the billionaire, emerging swiftly from one pantry and disappearing into the other with equal rapidity. "And what has she DONE with my liquor supply!?"

At that moment, right on cue, a very different voice spoke up from the doorway. "Would this make you feel any better?"

Tony poked his head around the corner of the pantry to see Pepper Potts standing in front of the table, holding… was that a chocolate pie of some sort?"

He quickly did the math: Chocolate + Pie = Spectacular.

Slightly suspicious nonetheless, Tony sauntered over to the table, clearing his throat and trying to regain some of his dignity. After all, some trepidation was allowed, right? This _was_ the woman who had very recently stripped him of the sugar, caffeine, and alcohol he needed to operate on a daily basis….

Pepper held up the pie with a winning smile.

Tony stopped several feet away and stared at it, still in shock from his most recent crisis. "I hope that's actually a pie, and not really a salad in disguise," he mumbled.

"Chocolate Mousse Tart," Pepper corrected, handing the entire platter to Tony. "Your favorite!"

He squinted at it, and then sniffed it. It really did smell like chocolate, he discovered, and upon dipping a finger into the mousse and sticking it in his mouth, he also discovered that it tasted just as good as it smelled.

Temporarily forgetting the reason of his distress, Tony grabbed a fork, sank down into a chair, and started eating right out of the pie plate. "Aaahh… caffeine," he mumbled blissfully.

"No caffeine," Pepper corrected, "but wouldn't you agree that it tastes just fine without it?"

Tony looked up, another sliver of distrust darkening his eyes, and said around a mouthful of chocolate mousse, "Then what'sh in thish?"

"Mashed avocados, macadamia nuts, soaked dates, agave nectar, carob powder, shredded coconut, and a pinch of sea salt for extra flavoring," Pepper announced proudly.

Tony's eyes suddenly became as large as twin baseballs, and he choked, putting a hand over his arc reactor and slumping over the table. "Hurrckk! Gahhhgh!" He then launched into a melodramatic display of coughing.

Pepper patted him gently on the back.

Tony grimaced, stumbling to his feet and lurching toward the door. "You're determined to kill me, aren't you?" he gasped.

"You promised me last month that you were going to go on a diet."

"I was! I am! Just not right now!"

"When?" Pepper gave him her infamous 'Do-I-Know-You-Or-Do-I-Know-You' look and put her hands on her hips.

Tony spluttered for a moment, and then stalked out of the room, mumbling something inarticulate. This was too much to bear. He couldn't even get a just-after-midnight snack in his own tower without being assaulted by revolting and completely inedible things like avocado pies and exotic fruit salads.

That was it. He needed a break. From his job. From his daily interviews. From the well-intentioned but very unwelcome efforts on Pepper's behalf to improve his diet. He was, as of now, on a self-appointed leave of absence.

Now, where would he go on this much-needed vacation?

Tahiti might be a little extreme.

_Hmmm..._

* * *

Several hours later, Tony speed-dialed the home phone of one Agent Clint Barton. There was an agonizingly long pause. And then the answering machine kicked in. To Tony's surprise, it was not Clint's recorded voice that greeted him:

"—_is this… hello? What—oh, yes, I see now. I suppose the green light means it is working. _Ahem_. You have reached the home of one underachieving mortal with a bad haircut who happens to be under my protection for the time being. He is unable to take your completely unnecessary and unimportant call, as he is likely too busy trying to impress one Natasha Romanoff. Please don't leave a message, because everyone knows that these twenty-first century Midgardian answering machines are completely unreliable. When has he ever called you back anyway? I thought not. But I had better cease talking, because I see the seconds remaining to record this call happen to be in the single digits now. Ah, well. I assume the beep will sound shortly—"_

"_Loki? …LOKI! Loki, get away from there! What are you doing?! No, give me that! Get back here! Where do you think you're going with MY PHONE?!"_

"—_so I shall leave you with that thought. Fare well. Or poorly, I really don't care which."_

There was a beep, and Stark irritably barked into the phone, "Clint, are you there? This is an emergency! I've been robbed blind. I need caffeine or my brain will implode. I'm pulling out in less than two minutes and if you aren't home, I'm breaking into your house, and then your refridge—"

"_Um, yes? Hello? This is—Loki, no! Don't touch that!—Clint Barton. Is this—"_

"Yes to whatever that last question was. You got any coffee?"

There was momentary silence on the other end of the line, and then Clint's slightly bemused voice. _"What?"_

"I said do you have any coffee?"

"_Errr... yes, I think—"_

"Is it decaf?"

"_No, but—"_

"How about M&Ms?"

"_I guess I probably do. Why—"_

"Tequila?"

"_No, no Tequ—"_

"Never mind. Forget the tequila. I'm coming over."

"_YOU'RE WHAT?!"_

"I'm coming over. I'm on vacation. I need some coffee. And I don't want to go to Tahiti. See you in an hour."

"_Stark!"_ Clint yelled. _"Are you mad? Are you crazy? Are you completely out of your mind? Did I not tell you last night that my house was infiltrated by Loki?! I'm running a home for demented demigods! I can't handle a_ _narcissistic millionaire—"_

"MULTI-millionaire."

"_Whatever. You aren't. Coming. Over. And that's final!"_

"Okay. See you in an hour," Tony reiterated, flipping the phone shut just as Clint started yelling again. At least, he thought with his trademark smirk, this would take his mind off his own problems, if nothing else.

* * *

_Review for more! ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	14. Entry 14: How to Live with a Demigod 101

_Wow! So many reviews! I logged in this morning and my jaw hit the floor. ;)_

**_Thank you!_**

_As promised, here is the next entry - enjoy it!_

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Entry #14: Manhattan [or, "How to Live with a Demigod 101"]

At exactly 8:45 AM, the doorbell rang for the second time in two days. And again. And again.

A suave, extremely annoying voice called out, "I'll get it, mortal," but Clint managed to beat Loki to the door (the demigod wouldn't have been able to open it anyway without the combination). He also, thankfully, managed to get the lock open before Tony Stark broke the doorbell.

The billionaire stepped in, looking unusually disheveled, dreadfully pale, and alarmingly wide-eyed. He gave the overall impression of someone who belonged in an insane asylum, but managed to croak out one very demanding word: "Coffee!"

Then he collapsed on the couch.

Loki swaggered in just after Clint sprinted through another door into the kitchen.

The front room suddenly fell silent. Loki stared at Tony. Tony stared back, albeit with glazed eyes. It was doubtful that he actually recognized Loki. All he knew was that a tall, dark person was looming over him. A person who, oddly enough, smelled strongly of raspberries. Tony blinked once, trying to clear away the fog. "Hey… You got any coffee…?"

Before Loki could come up with a stinging reply, Natasha waltzed into the living room, wearing bell-bottom jeans and a white blouse. Her hair was done up in a towel-turban, and she was barefooted. Her toenails had been freshly painted a startling neon green color, and her bright red lipstick was back.

"Oh!" She blinked, raising both eyebrows, and then frowned at Tony. "What are you doing here?"

Tony heaved a sigh, sinking lower into the leather embrace of the couch. "Coffee," he whimpered, the look on his face resembling that of a lost and lonely little puppy.

At that moment, Clint walked back into the room, a mug in his hands. "This is all that's left of my coffee from this morning. It's caffeinated, so it should tide you over until the other pot is done brewing."

Tony reached up weakly and accepted the slightly-warm mug, downing the entire thing in two swallows.

"Don't drown yourself," cautioned Clint. "It's not going anywhere. And—hey!" he yelped, suddenly noticing Loki. "What are you doing out here?"

Loki crossed his arms and looked very prim. "I finished '_rinsing my bowl_' and _'loading the dishwasher_,' exactly as you commanded. Then I read the pitifully inept instructions next to the strange metal beast 'Kenmore,' filled it with the liquefied soap I found under the sink, and pressed the little green light which said Normal Wash. I assumed that would suffice."

Clint nodded slowly, and then froze. "Wait… how many dishes were in there?"

Loki gave him a very condescending frown. "Just mine."

"_Just_ yours? And how much soap did you use?" demanded Clint.

"All of it, naturally." Loki shrugged. "There was no recommended amount listed anywhere."

Clint let out an unnatural, horrified squeak (which did not sound at all manly) and dashed back into the kitchen.

Natasha quickly followed him.

Loki smirked.

Tony stared into the empty coffee mug with a wistful expression.

Then a loud wail emanated from the general direction of the kitchen. "LOKI! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DISHWASHER?"

Putting one pale hand over his mouth, Loki widened his eyes in mock-disbelief as Clint came storming through the door, several soap bubbles clinging to his black pants. He tracked sudsy water into the living room, but didn't seem to notice. His face was flushed bright red: one of the clearest warning signs that Hawkeye had been pushed too far. He was also shaking his fist at Loki. That was bad news as well. "THERE IS A TWO-INCH TIDE-POOL OF BUBBLES AND DISHWATER FLOODING ONTO MY KITCHEN FLOOR! DID YOU KNOW THAT?"

Loki spread out his hands and shrugged. "I am terribly sorry."

"YEAH? WELL YOU'RE GONNA REALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO BE SORRY ABOUT IF YOU DON'T REPLACE THAT DISHWASHER!"

"Clint, stop yelling," Natasha said quietly, emerging from the kitchen and brushing soap suds off her hands and onto her jeans.

"I'M NOT YELLING!"

"Yes, you are."

"HE RUINED MY FAVORITE BREAKFAST BOWL!"

"Clint…"

"NOT TO MENTION MY KENMORE!"

"Stop it, Clint."

"I HAVE A PUBLIC MENACE LIVING IN _MY HOUSE!_ AND IT'S ALL NICK FURY'S FAULT! I'M GONNA—"

_"**CLINTON FRANCIS BARTON!"**_ Natasha's voice rose to an unbelievable pitch. Loki covered his ears with his hands. Clint stared at her in disbelief. Tony watched the whole spectacle unfold from his slumped position on the couch.

"…What?" whimpered Clint.

"Calm down. We'll mop up the water on the floor and fix the dishwasher."

Tony looked up darkly to insert his unoriginal two cents: "Coffee."

Clint stared blankly at him for a moment, still stunned from the recent trauma he had endured, and then nodded stiffly. "Right. Coffee." With that, he trudged into the kitchen again, grumbling under his breath.

Loki was looking fairly pleased with himself—until Natasha gave him her signature Evil-Eye Glare. "You. You knew I was going to take a shower this morning, and you used up a shameful amount of hot water. Why?"

Loki backed a few steps away and held up both hands in defense. The truth was that Loki, being half Frost Giant after all, much preferred ice-cold water for bathing. But after getting out of the bathtub, he had, of course, run the shower on hot for half an hour anyway.

"And I don't even want to know what you were thinking when you reached for MY raspberry body lotion."

Again, Loki had done that simply to provoke (he thought) Clint Barton, not realizing that the lotion was actually Natasha's. He _had_ rather liked the way it smelled, though…

"But," Natasha finished warningly, "if you continue to torment Clint, I will gladly stoop to your level in retaliation. Got that?"

Loki was not quite sure what she meant by that, and did not respond. He wondered what would happen once Clint found out that all of his white T-shirts had somehow ended up in the same load as Natasha's bright red pajamas. The handwritten list of DO NOT's hanging on the wall (likely derived right from the mishaps of one bachelor SHIELD agent) had included an advisory about the dangers of mixing light colors with red, tie-dye, or neon-anything. "Red" had been highlighted.

"I'm going errand-running this afternoon," continued Natasha, crossing her arms and glaring at Loki. "And since Clint is obviously on the verge of a complete mental breakdown—or at least a mild conniption fit—guess who gets to come shopping with me?"

Loki stared down at Natasha, looking about as happy as a child who had just been assigned five straight hours of math homework. There were few things in the universe that frightened Loki Laufeyson. Natasha Romanoff happened to be at the bottom of that list—but she'd made the cut, nonetheless.

"That's right," Natasha established, as if he had actually answered her question. "And we are going to run the errands at a leisurely pace, as a special favor to Clint. He needs a break. The errands I had in mind include going grocery hunting, stopping at the jewelry store to pick up my watch, and getting you some of your own clothes so you can quit stealing Clint's. For the last two, we'll have to take a trip to the mall. Oh yes, and you are going to handpick a card and something _really nice_ for Clint. Then we're stopping at his favorite restaurant to get take-out. And a double-layer chocolate cake for desert." She put her hands on her hips, smirking just a tad. "Hopefully that will make up for the loss of his dishwasher. And his sanity…"

At that moment, the topic of conversation stumbled into the room, holding two navy-blue mugs. "Coffee anyone?"

It was amazing to watch the reaction. In a flash, Stark had leaped up from the couch and dove across the room, hastily grabbing one of the mugs from Clint (despite the agent's warning cries of, "DON'T SPILL THAT ON MY RUG!"). Then he took one long, refreshing drink of pure caffeine. When he finished, he sighed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, some of the worry lines vanishing from his face. "Clint," he said genuinely, clapping his fellow Avenger on the shoulder, "I owe you one."

Then he turned around and came face-to-face with Loki. There was a brief stare-down. After a moment, the god of mischief slunk over to the couch and seated himself on the middle cushion. Another silence ensued before Loki said flatly, "This is mine." And then added, in a voice of the utmost disdain, "You were sitting on it."

Tony stared blankly at him for a moment, and seemed to be in the process of thinking up a very snarky reply. In the end, he simply leaned toward Clint and stage-whispered, "Did Fury say how long you have to put up with this?"

* * *

_Who wants to see Natasha take Loki shopping? XD_

_Review!_

_~Alassiel_


	15. Entry 15: In Which Loki Goes Shopping

_Over sixty reviews and counting! You all are amazing, and I'm so glad you've been enjoying this story... __Read on! ;)_

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Entry #15: Manhattan [In Which Loki Goes Shopping]

Clint's parting words echoed in Natasha's head: "Don't let him hurt my baby."

She shook a lock of hair out of her face and glanced over at Loki, who was sitting wordlessly in the passenger's seat of Clint's "baby." The demigod had opted to ride shotgun anyway, obviously used to being escorted around. It annoyed her that in his mind she was worthy of nothing more than to be his chaperone (and probably not even that), but Clint would have killed her if she had attempted to give him a driving lesson in his sports car. She felt no inclination to do such a potentially hazardous thing, anyway.

Natasha gripped the wheel with two white-knuckled fists, glancing sideways at the passenger every now and then. So far he had experimented with the air conditioning three times, perused the glove compartment and fished out a pocket-sized picture of Nat sitting in Clint's lap on a park bench in D.C. while they ate triple-scoop ice cream cones, and scared the living daylights out of both of them when he accidentally turned on the radio. Apparently, Clint went for the "maximum everything," which included the rock-and-roll station, headache-inducing volume, and such an excellent bass that the whole car vibrated.

Loki didn't mess with any more buttons after that. Obviously, this car was dangerous.

Natasha might have laughed at the stunned expression on his face had she not been thinking the exact same thing.

When they pulled into the parking lot of the local grocery store, she put the car in park and turned sideways to look at Loki. "We are going to do this quickly and quietly. You will not pull any pranks or cause any mayhem in this store. Okay?"

Loki appeared to be processing this. Finally, he nodded, and they both got out of the car. "Nick Fury didn't even want you to leave the house," Natasha reminded him as she slammed her door shut and pressed the 'lock' button on the key ring, "so you'd better not be more than five feet away from me at any given time. Your new calling in life is to walk behind me and push the cart down the aisles—_without_ ramming it into the backs of my legs, thank you very much."

By the time they had claimed a cart and Loki had finished examining the automatic doors, Natasha was feeling quite a bit better about this excursion. Loki was acting more like a quiet, curious kid than a murderous demigod. But he was still an enemy, right? And even if she had decided to treat him like an insolent four-year-old, she had to remember that he was really a war-mongering, hate-filled, super-human being that could probably crush her even without his powers if she didn't maintain some sense of perspective.

The first thing they saw as they passed the cash register was a large stand displaying one thing: flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.

Natasha stopped to smell the closest bouquet, and to her surprise, Loki did as well. She stepped back and watched him as he examined each individual petal, and then moved on to another bunch, mumbling something about the Midgardian tulips being inferior to those in Asgard.

Finally he selected a small, perky bouquet and offered it to Natasha.

She stood very still, her hands plastered to her sides as she tried to figure out what he was doing.

Then he said, "For Clint."

After one really awkward moment, Nat finally remembered telling him that he was under orders to find something 'really nice' for Clint.

"Oh…" Natasha relaxed. "Oh, no, um, I don't really think he wants—"

Then she hesitated. Why not? Loki _had_ taken the time to select them himself, and she assumed that giving flowers was a universal sign of respect and favor in Asgard.

A small smirk touched Natasha's lips. "Well, okay." She took the flowers and carefully placed them upright in the cart. "But I think the flowers can be from _me_, and you can get him a Snickers bar or ingredients for making s'mores or something."

Loki inquired as to the nature of these s'mores with an unusual degree of interest, but became visibly confused when Natasha rattled off the short list of ingredients. He did not know exactly what Graham crackers were, and actually seemed to have trouble pronouncing marshmallows. It was the first time Natasha had found a flaw in his English vocabulary, and she tried hard not to laugh at him. "No, uh, hahah—_ahem_. It's pronounced, 'marsh-mell-o's'," she corrected.

Loki frowned and remained silent, looking very pointedly in the opposite direction. Natasha realized quickly that she had found a chink in Loki's well-oiled and carefully maintained mental armor: being laughed at.

Filing that bit of information away for future reference, Natasha marched toward the candy aisle, and Loki obediently pushed the cart behind her.

"Ah!" Natasha smiled and selected a jumbo-size package of Hershey's bars, tossing it carelessly into the cart. "And this—" she grabbed some kit-kats "—and this—" a few skittles for herself "—and this—" in went the unpronounceable delicacy 'marshmallows' "—and this!" And finally, the graham crackers. Then Natasha scanned the list again. She had the distinct feeling that she was forgetting something.

Oh yes. A special request from Tony: peanut M&M's. Ten packages of those went into the basket as well.

"Alright then. Onto the healthy food… which I'm probably going to have all to myself," she added wryly. Tony's instructions had been to get "party materials, M&M's, lots of junky deliciousness, and some vodka." Natasha had declined the vodka, but suggested Dr. Pepper as a non-alcoholic alternative.

When they finished their shopping and were making their way toward the cash registers, Loki stopped the cart. The next thing that had caught his eye was a row of balloons. Some for birthdays, some for college graduation parties, some for friendship, and a few really old ones left over from Father's Day.

He was staring up at the gently bobbing objects with great curiosity. After a minute of solemn thought, Loki pointed to one that said, "Hope your day is as awesome as you are!" It was a birthday-style balloon, and Natasha decided that Clint's day had probably been slaughtered beyond all hope of recovery, but she finally relented.

They got the balloon (whether Loki had gotten it for Clint or himself Natasha couldn't quite figure out, and she didn't ask) and that was the end of their grocery shopping.

Loki tried to leave without paying, quite by accident—i.e. unfamiliarity with Midgardian customs—but Natasha stopped him before he made it to the door.

It was only when they had trudged back to the car with the now-overloaded cart that Natasha realized what a mistake it had been to take Clint's baby. The sports car had a very small trunk (almost too small to deserve such a grand title) and an equally cramped back seat. With an odd combination of skill and luck, the two of them managed to squeeze everything into the car. Loki was very helpful. Natasha thanked him for reminding her to put the ice cream under a blanket so as to prevent any meltage on the way home. He also stopped her from placing a bag of bananas on top of the sour-cream-and-onion ruffles chips.

In the end, a rather uncomfortable Loki still had to sit with a package of Doritos between his feet and three grocery bags on his lap, one containing Stark's M&M's, one with four liters of soda, and another that held spaghetti and meatballs and two loaves of French bread.

Natasha sighed, pushing the balloon out of her face for the umpteenth time. "And we still have to go to the mall!" she moaned, feeling utterly defeated.

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed Loki's shopping spree!_

_~Alassiel_


	16. Entry 16: The Phone Call

_I think that last chapter is my favorite so far - Natasha and Loki just have such chemistry [even when it's a very off-beat, silly chemistry] that I couldn't help myself. Since I'm co-writing Case Red, I thought it would be funny to have a comical, reverse scenario where SHE frightens HIM. ;)_

_No Lokasha in this story, since I'm an equally big fan of CLINTasha, but I'm glad you enjoyed their little encounter!_

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Entry #16: Manhattan [or, "The Phone Call"]

Meanwhile back at Clint's house, two bachelor Avengers sat around the kitchen table looking somewhat forlorn. Barton was munching on a piece of toast and Stark was chugging coffee straight out of the coffee-pot.

After several awkward moments of (relative) silence, Stark set down his oversized mug of caffeine and said, "Look on the bright side. You won't have to worry about crossing the street at night. Those T-shirts are so florescent, the cars will see you coming from a mile away."

Clint groaned through a mouthful of toast. "But they're PINK, Stark! PINK! I can't wear pink!"

Tony smirked, taking another swig of coffee. "You know, they say it takes a real man to wear pink."

"Yeah, yeah, not falling for that one," Clint groused, swallowing his last bite of toast. It had been two hours since he had discovered the repugnant load of pink laundry (how Natasha's red PJ's had ended up in the washer was not exactly a mystery—Clint vowed to get Loki back for that later).

Unfortunately, Stark had almost eaten the archer out of house and home, and there was still no sign of Natasha and her mischievous tag-along. Clint glanced out the window. It was still early, about two o' clock in the afternoon, but they should be back by now.

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Clint swiftly attempted to leap to his feet, but failed in epic style. He caught his boot on the crossbar of the chair-legs, knocking the whole thing over and neatly falling flat on his face. A second chair fell on top of him.

Tony sauntered by, still holding the coffee-pot. "Please, don't trouble yourself," he said, casually walking toward the front door as Clint attempted to extract himself from the tangle of legs and chair. However, his ninja-like skills did not serve him well in this particular instance. The headpiece splintered as Clint bashed it into the wall, and when he tried to kick himself free, all four chair-legs went flying across the kitchen in different directions.

By then Tony had already discovered the combination and unlocked the door… with a little assistance from the ever-present Jarvis, who had been previously downloaded to his cell phone. When he opened it, he stared at the two bedraggled figures in mild surprise. Natasha peered at him from over an arm-load of grocery bags, and Loki was saddled with five more, as well as several clothing items such as shirts and jeans thrown over one shoulder. They were still on their hangers, and each one had a tag on it that said, "Clearance Sale."

Clint's sports car was parked in the driveway. The trunk was open, and fairly bursting at the seams. The entire backseat had also been packed full of foodstuffs and various other objects—was that a balloon?—and the avalanche of edible delights and Nordstrom boxes even flowed over into the front of the car.

"…So, did you guys buy out the entire mall, or what?"

Natasha marched past Tony toward the kitchen. "Stop talking and go get some groceries. I've been walking around the mall for three and a half hours with a man who cannot humble himself enough to buy a shirt with a 20% off label, will not consume anything from the food court that looks 'toxic,' and does not know how to appreciate fine art. And I'm running incredibly low on patience. You crack one more joke, I explode."

Stark took the hint.

When Natasha entered the kitchen, she was both shocked and horrified to see Agent Barton lying face-down on the tiled floor, amidst the shattered remnants of what might have been a chair. "Clint?!"

Clint slowly rolled over to stare up at Natasha. He looked a bit dazed, but none the worse for wear. Then his gaze shifted until it rested on Loki's smirking face. With an effort, the SHIELD agent dragged himself upright, using the table as support, and growled.

"What happened?" Natasha placed the grocery bags on the table and put a hand on Clint's back.

"I had a fight with a chair," Clint mumbled, turning slightly red in the face.

Loki surveyed the damage. "I see. It appears that you lost."

"Oh no, I'm pretty sure I won," corrected Clint, looking down at what was left of his favorite—but clearly not durable—chair.

At that moment, Stark walked in, holding the grocery bag full of M&M's, the other grocery bag full of Dr. Pepper, a bouquet of flowers, and Loki's birthday balloon. "Did I miss something?" he inquired jovially, placing the items on the table (minus the balloon, which he tied to a chair, and Loki immediately confiscated it anyway). Having had his much-needed dose of caffeine, Tony Stark was now in a very good mood. Although he did find himself missing Pepper, now that he was finally gone on that also much-needed vacation…

Natasha didn't answer, but promptly sank down into the closest chair and waved a tired hand at the door. "Clint, Tony, go finish unloading the car. I know that can't be everything."

Tony shrugged and started walking toward the front door, but Clint pointed at Loki. "How did _he_ get out of helping?"

Natasha turned her stare to Loki.

That was all it took. He was on his feet in a flash, and out the door in seconds.

Clint smirked, trudging out after him.

* * *

Once everything edible had been more or less stowed away in either the refrigerator or the pantry, and Loki's supply of new clothes had been stuffed awkwardly under the couch cushions (he had refused to let anyone else touch them—_or_ the couch), Natasha announced that they were going to have a barbecue. Not your average, run-of-the-mill, hum-drum barbecue either. This was going to be an Avengers-worthy barbecue.

Clint expressed some discomfort with the idea. This was HIS house after all, and he didn't want the neighbors filing lawsuits. But Natasha reassured him that this party would remain completely legal.

Satisfied with that promise, and somewhat pacified by the flowers and peppermint ice cream, Clint assumed the role of host and rolled the barbecue out onto the back deck. (The balloon _had_ been for Loki, apparently, because it was now tied to the armrest of "his" couch.)

Tony immediately claimed the lounge chair and poured himself a very tall glass of Dr. Pepper, leaving Clint to fight with the barbecue by himself, and Natasha disappeared into the house to get the ruffles chips. After all, they needed something to snack on while they waited for the real food.

Tony complained that he wanted Fritos instead, but Natasha shushed him as she reemerged from the kitchen and tried to open the bag of ruffles.

There was a long pause.

Finally, Natasha stopped pulling and released the breath she had been holding, glaring at the stubborn bag. "Clint, you got any scissors?"

Clint gave her a very unimpressed stare. "Are you trying to tell me," he drawled, "that the almighty Black Widow has been bested by a bag of ruffles chips?"

Natasha gave him a withering glare, immediately tightening her grip on the bag and yanking as hard as she could. It popped open and several ruffles chips went skittering across the deck. "Hah! Got it," she muttered, tossing the bag onto the wooden table.

Loki was not quite sure whether the hard, crunchy, grease-covered delicacies were really edible. With a ludicrous display of trepidation, he nibbled on the end of one chip. After taking a millisecond to process the taste, he quickly decided that sour-cream-and-onion had been an excellent choice. The Avengers watched in amazement as he popped one after the other into his mouth with such rapidity that it would have put Thor to shame. He might have devoured the entire bag had Tony not swiped it away from him and finished off the chips himself.

Just when Clint was sure he had the barbecue _almost_ started, a loud vibrating sound came from inside his pocket, followed by a tinny version of the Michael Jackson hit song "Beat It."

Natasha gave him a very long look at that.

Clint fished the phone out of his pocket with an annoyed sigh, mumbling something unintelligible. Then he looked at the caller ID and nearly had a severe myocardial infarction: _Nick Fury._

* * *

_Ah, suspense... __I hope you liked this entry! ;)_

_Review if you feel the inclination - I love hearing from you. _

_~Alassiel_


	17. Entry 17:Official Avengers Barbecue Bash

_Hello all! Thank you so much for your lovely reviews - every single one makes me smile. :)_

_Enjoy this next entry!_

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Entry #17: Manhattan [or, "An Official Avengers Barbecue Bash"]

Clint tried to compose himself before answering. Finally he took a deep breath, flipped the cell phone open, and held it up to his ear, saying with the utmost decorum: "DIRECTOR FURY HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO ME MY ENTIRE LIFE IS IN SHAMBLES AND WHATEVER YOU WANT NOW THE ANSWER IS 'NO'!"

"_Uh, is this Hawkeye?"_

… "Yes."

"_This is Steve. Steve Rodgers? Director Fury let me borrow his phone. I dropped mine on the pavement outside Walmart when I was talking to Agent Hill, and I think I broke it. Bear in mind that I was holding three bags of apples and four boxes of cheerios at the time, so I don't think it actually counted as a klutzy moment."_ He sounded slightly defensive.

Clint sank into one of the deck chairs and sighed, running a hand through his short brown hair. "Oh… hello, Steve."

"_So I assume Dr. Banner already called you?"_

Suspicion immediately crossed Clint's face. "Dr. Banner? What for?"

"_I guess not. Apparently Tony left Stark Tower without telling anyone where he went. Bruce decided that he had probably gone to SHIELD headquarters for some emergency meeting. Obviously he was mistaken, because when he got here, I was the only Avenger in sight. So Nick Fury told him to try your house. I guess he never called to tell you he was coming, but he left headquarters about forty-five minutes ago."_

"So, Dr. Banner is coming… _here_? Like, to my home?"

"_Yeah. Who all is over there, anyway?"_

Clint glared in the general direction of Loki. "A sadistic assassin, an egotistical inventor, and a completely insane extraterrestrial. And according to the aforementioned sadistic assassin, we're supposed to be having a barbecue on the back deck…"

"_So it's Miss Romanoff, Mr. Stark, and Thor,"_ Steve surmised.

"Not Thor. The other one."

"_What?"_

"You heard me."

"_Oh for the love of… Do you need any help?"_

Clint smirked. "No. Actually, he's, uh, eating some Fritos right now."

Loki glared from across the table.

"_Listen,"_ said Steve, _"I'll be over in an hour."_

"No, that's really not necess—"

"_Please!"_ Steve's voice sank to a whisper. _"Please. Please let me come over. I don't want to run any more errands for Miss Hill! I'll be the perfect guest! You won't even notice I'm there! Just help me out, Mr. Barton!"_

Clint raised both eyebrows, wondering exactly what Steve had been doing all day, but then sighed, slumping down into the deck chair. "OK. Sure. Whatever. We'll have… an official Avengers barbecue bash," he said dryly.

"_Thank you!" _

There was a click, and then an empty buzzing sound. Clint flipped his cell phone shut and stared blankly at the still-unlit barbecue. Natasha waved a hand in front of his face. "Clint? What's going on?"

He just sat there, dazed and pale-faced.

"Clint?" She patted him on the shoulder. "Hello?"

"Dr. Banner and Cap'n Rodgers… are coming over… tonight!" he groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Loki munched on another morsel stolen from the newly-opened bag of Fritos and stared very apathetically at Clint Barton.

Stark shrugged. "The more the merrier," he said casually. "Maybe Dr. Banner will know how to light a barbecue."

"I _know_ how to light a barbecue!" Clint mumbled.

"Then why isn't it lit?"

"Alright, boys." Natasha marched over to the barbecue. "Time to let the master show you how it's done."

While she fiddled with the lighter, Tony turned to smirk at Loki. "Did you hear that? Dr. Banner is going to pay us a visit."

"And why should I care?" Loki munched on another Frito and blinked lazily at Tony, drumming his fingers on the table.

"Because Dr. Banner and the _Other Guy_ are going to pay us a visit." Tony waited for a reaction, but got none. "You know… the Hulk?"

Loki froze, a Frito half-way from the bag to his mouth.

Natasha and Clint both turned to look at the god of mischief. He appeared to be a very pale, very lifelike statue.

And then he bolted.

The chair went rocketing backwards, the table wobbled, and Stark's Dr. Pepper tipped over as Loki flew past Clint, Tony, Natasha, and the barbecue, and—with a tremendous crash—took out the silly, almost-invisible screen door he had forgotten was there.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

And that's when Clint started laughing.

Loudly.

Hysterically.

"Ahahahaha—_sweet revenge_!" exclaimed Clint, punching the air with a fist. "Tehe! Hahaha! Hehehehe! Haha—that was—hehehe—oh my—hehehehe! Hahaha!"

Natasha watched Clint with raised eyebrows as he almost fell out of the deck chair, rocked by tremendous spasms of laughter. Then, just as suddenly, he became dead silent and sat straight up. After a moment, he leaped to his feet and began running across the deck toward the door. "I can't let him destroy anything else in my house!" he shouted, sprinting through the now-decimated sliding door and accidentally ripping out what was left of the screen.

When Clint's footsteps had faded into the deeper recesses of the house, Natasha turned to look at Tony, who was refilling his glass with more Dr. Pepper.

Then she calmly went back to experimenting with the barbecue.

* * *

_Well, we finally have all the Avengers beginning to converge on poor Clint's Manhattan home... Hooray!_

_Also, I'm trying to figure out a steady update schedule - possibly two entries a week, d__epending on how well things go. Let me know what you think. ;)_

_Review!_

_~Alassiel_


	18. Entry 18: Dr Banner Arrives

Entry #18: Manhattan [or, "Dr. Banner Arrives"]

Clint had looked everywhere – in the laundry room, the kitchen, the living room, under the couch, under the table, in the cupboards, in the pantry, in all the hallways… and Loki did not have access to Clint's office or bedroom or guest bedroom, or even the garage.

With a huffing sigh, Clint stopped in front of the last door he had not tried: the bathroom. Of course, that door had no lock except on the inside, for obvious reasons. He lifted his hand and knocked loudly on the door. There was no response, so he tried the handle: aha! Locked.

"Loki?"

…silence.

"Loki, I know you're in there."

…silence.

"Loki, I want that bathroom to stay INTACT, okay? As in, use it if you have to, but please don't try anything like that stunt you pulled on my dishwasher."

…silence.

Clint rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. It wasn't that he enjoyed Loki's company—not in the slightest—but he felt much better when he could actually _see_ his worst enemy. At least then he had a chance at stepping in before something went haywire.

"Listen, come out of there… please," Clint choked out the last word with a pained grimace. "I promise Dr. Banner won't Hulk Out on you this time, okay? I mean, give the guy a break. You _were_ sort of destroying Manhattan when he showed up."

…silence.

Clint sighed. This was getting old. Fast. "Alright, I'll make a deal with you. If you come out of there, I'll give you your own personal bag of Fritos. Deal?"

At first, Clint thought that silence would once again be his only answer, but then the words, "Do not attempt to bribe me, Mortal," came from directly behind the door. Obviously Loki was standing right next to the chink in the wall, listening to Clint.

"Two bags," offered Clint. "Two bags, and your own bottle of root beer, too. Come on, now, you can't say no to that."

"Yes, I can."

Clint sighed and slumped against the wall. "You drive a hard bargain," he complained, checking his watch. If Steve's time estimate had been correct, Dr. Banner should be there in about two minutes or less. "Listen, if you come out now…" he gritted his teeth. What had Natasha told him that Loki liked? She _had_ spent most of the day with him, after all. There had to be something.

Oh yes.

Clint's sports car, she had said. Loki liked his sports car. (Just not the radio).

Well, that certainly wasn't going to happen. _Over my dead body_, Clint thought bitterly. What else did the belligerent demigod like?

Nothing came to mind.

And then the door-bell of doom announced Dr. Banner's arrival.

If Clint just left Loki there and attended to his guests, the demigod could very well sneak out while they were all on the back deck and cause unthinkable mischief in Clint's house. And Clint couldn't allow that. Obviously drastic measures were in order.

"I will… I will let you drive my sports car tomorrow! And we will take said sports car to the grocery store! And we will buy ALL of the balloons!" Clint proclaimed loudly, stepping away from the door and holding his breath.

There was a short pause. And then a click as the bathroom door was unlocked. The door opened a crack, and one wide green eye peered out at Clint. "All of the balloons?"

"ALL of the balloons," repeated Clint, licking his lips and fidgeting nervously.

The door finally swung all the way open and Loki stepped out, looking more frazzled than his usual sleek self: his hair was in slight disarray, and bits of wire mesh from the screen door were stuck to his jeans and T-shirt. He was holding something that looked like a staff… a very small staff. When the rest of it came into view, Clint realized that Loki had confiscated the toilet plunger, presumably for possible use as a weapon should Dr. Banner prove hostile.

"Um… Loki?"

After glancing furtively around the hallway and deciding that it looked safe enough, Loki slunk toward the back door, plunger still in hand.

"Loki! Put that—what is—where do you think you're going with that thing?!"

Loki was already out of sight, and Clint growled, marching toward the other door to let Dr. Banner inside. The doorbell rang again. "I'M COMING!" Clint bellowed irritably, stepping into the front hall and unlocking the door (which had, since Nick Fury's despicable "upgrades," become considerably more of a challenge).

When he finally got the door open, he found himself face to face with the Hulk's pacific, humble alter-ego. "Ah. Good evening, Clint."

"Is it?" Clint asked mildly, stepping back to let Bruce through the doorway.

"Well, maybe not," agreed Bruce, squinting hard at Clint. "Director Fury told me about your mission. How are things going with your new and exciting life as a jail warden?"

"Miserable," Clint informed him sharply. "That demigod has destroyed my dishwasher, turned all my white T-shirts pink in the laundry, stolen my favorite clothing items, and just now he walked out the back door with the toilet plunger."

Bruce let out a hum of sympathy, but Clint thought he saw a small glint of amusement in his grey eyes. "I came to see Tony. Is he here?"

Clint pointed in the direction of the back deck. "Yeah. We're all having a barbecue on the back deck. Or we would be if we could get the barbecue started."

"Oh. May I stay a while?"

"You might as well." Clint rolled his eyes.

The doctor took the light jacket that he had thrown over one arm and started to toss it on the couch, but Clint grabbed it quickly. "I wouldn't advise doing that," he explained when Bruce gave him a completely baffled look. "Loki won't let anyone so much as lay a finger on that couch. It's his. Well, at least he _thinks_ it's his. I told him he was only borrowing it, but he doesn't seem to know what that word means."

Bruce didn't bat an eye. "Of course not. He thinks he's a god, and therefore, this entire world is rightfully his."

Clint sighed. "He's driving me positively insane. And when he heard you were coming, he locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out until I bribed him. He's terrified of the Hulk."

"And rightly so," Bruce pointed out.

"Yeah, but now he's probably running around here with revenge on his mind," countered Clint. "I don't know what he could possibly do with a toilet plunger, but he IS the god of mischief."

Bruce frowned. "I'm not going to Hulk Out at this barbecue, am I?"

Clint looked decidedly disturbed at this inquiry. "I certainly hope not, Doctor," he mumbled, trudging toward the back deck. "I certainly hope not…"

* * *

_Loki and his toilet plunger... That'll be the day. :P_

_Thank you for all your favorites and reviews - hugs to everyone!_

_~Alassiel_


	19. Entry 19: Stark Barbecue

_I can't thank you all enough for your continued support! __Here is Entry 19... I do hope you enjoy it. ;)_

* * *

Entry #19: Manhattan [or, "Stark Barbecue"]

Loki was perched on the deck railing. A bowl of Fritos sat to his right. To his left, a toilet plunger.

His eyes had never left the broken screen door. At any moment, the hideous green monstrosity could come crashing through, and Loki would most assuredly _not_ be caught off-guard again.

Tony had been giving him strange looks ever since he had walked out onto the deck, and now he finally spoke up. "I don't know if I want to hear the answer to this… but what are you doing with the toilet plunger?"

Loki lifted his chin and looked rather indignant. "It is now my personal means of defense. Do not touch it."

"I wouldn't think about it," Stark assured him with raised eyebrows.

Natasha sighed and turned around to grab the plate of raw hot dogs and hamburgers that was sitting on a deck chair. The barbecue was now lit. "Loki," she said, sounding tired. "I really doubt you're going to find it very helpful if you're squaring off with the Hulk."

"Oh, really?" Loki grabbed the plunger and seemed ready to demonstrate his prowess with his makeshift spear, but Stark stumbled to his feet, backing swiftly toward the door.

"No, no, we believe you," he lied, raising his glass of Dr. Pepper as if in a toast to Loki and his deadly toilet plunger. "No need for that."

Loki looked somewhat appeased and lowered the plunger back to the deck railing.

At that instant, Clint strode through the destroyed screen door, brushing aside a flap of wire mesh with the back of his hand. Dr. Banner was close behind him.

Stiffening, Loki wrapped a hand protectively around his improvised weapon and glared at the Hulk's alter-ego.

Dr. Banner gave him a peaceable smile and waved. "Hello."

Loki made no reply of any sort, but his expression was as stoic and unreadable as ever. Tony shrugged, and then shook Dr. Banner's hand. "Sorry about—" he nodded at the demigod. "He couldn't be helped."

"In more ways than one," muttered Clint.

Loki shot him a death-glare.

"So, welcome to the Official Avengers Barbecue Bash, which Clint has so kindly offered to host at his very own home in Manhattan," Tony continued, taking a seat in the lounge chair once again. Clint waved carelessly from one of the other deck chairs as Tony resumed speaking. "Help yourself. And I do feel bad about leaving you at Stark Tower with Pepper and her toxic recipes. Well, sort of bad. It's not like you're defenseless OR have a complete lack of things to entertain yourself with. I mean, seriously, two laboratories and access to my personal workspace? That's not a luxury I afford just anyone."

Natasha suddenly piped up with, "Hamburgers are done!" She waved a metal spatula at Clint, who scrambled inside to prepare the lettuce leaves and the burger buns and the pickles and the condiments, some of which Natasha had picked up at the store earlier in the day.

Tony drained his glass of Dr. Pepper and began to pour himself a third (although perhaps it didn't _quite_ count as a third, since Loki had accidentally knocked the second one over). "About time," he said cheerfully, reaching for one of the paper plates sitting on the table.

Then Natasha groaned. "False alarm," she growled, poking one of the hamburgers apart with the spatula. "These are still raw."

"What?!" Tony whined. "But I'm hungry!"

Natasha glared at him, and then extended the spatula. "You wanna give this a try?" she challenged.

"Believe me," said Tony with a smirk. "Nobody can cook hamburgers like the Man of Iron."

Raising an eyebrow, Natasha nodded. "Okay. All yours."

"Just a minute."

With that, Tony Stark disappeared into the house just as Clint stepped outside. The SHIELD agent looked over his shoulder with some concern. "Where's he going?"

Natasha sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows?" she mumbled, turning back to the barbecue and flipping the hamburgers and hotdogs.

Several minutes later, Stark reappeared.

Except this time, he was fully attired in the newly upgraded Mark VII armor.

Clint stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, and then did a double-take. "What are you… whoa… whoa whoa whoa, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

Tony brushed a horrified Natasha aside and flipped open the lid to the barbecue. "Stand back," he warned. "We're going to cook these… Stark-Style."

"Stark-no-please-I-really-don't-think-that's-a-good-idea-just-let-me—" Clint began, reaching out as if to shield his old and cantankerous (but much beloved) barbecue. Natasha tackled him to the deck.

Tony extended his armor-gloved hands. Two flaps on his arm-guards flipped up and there was a menacing sizzle. Nobody moved.

Then two fireballs exploded from Mark VII, completely engulfing the hamburger and hotdogs, but not quite reaching the deck railing (thank heavens). Sparks filled the air. There was a moment of crackling and sputtering flames. And then a loud *_whoosh_* as Iron Man literally blew out the fire with some hidden nozzle in his armor.

Clint was panting on the deck, Natasha was lying sprawled across a chair (where he had accidentally thrown her after assuming that some unknown enemy was assaulting him), Dr. Banner was hunched over in his chair whilst an ominous green vein throbbed in the middle of his forehead, and Loki was crouched under the table, both hands covering his head as if to shield himself from the inferno.

In the ensuing moment of awed silence, Stark said proudly, "I really oughtta start my own business. Stark Barbecue. What do you think?"

After a moment, Clint raised his head and wheezed, "For the safety of Earth and all who live on this planet, I vote 'NO'."

Tony turned around, his visor lifting, and noticed Loki surreptitiously trying to crawl out from underneath the table. Their eyes met.

And then Loki said, in a perfectly accented, very dignified voice: "I dropped my Frito."

For some reason, everyone seemed to think this was hysterical. Loki thought otherwise, but kept his own opinion to himself, merely glowering at the rest of the party.

Mark VII began to fold up into what looked like a suitcase but actually turned out to be a small wallet. The Avengers all stared at it in amazement. Tony smirked, and clipped mini-Mark VII shut. "New model," he explained, casually stuffing it in his back pocket. "More convenient."

There was dead silence on the back deck.

Tony turned back to the hamburgers and exclaimed in a very pleased tone of voice, "Ah! I see the meat is done."

"You mean _over_-done," corrected Bruce Banner. He had apparently recovered from his close call and was shaking his head at Tony. The billionaire ignored his remark.

"See, Nat? It wasn't that hard." Tony reached for the spatula, and then flipped the burgers and hotdogs onto the nearby plate. Each one hit the ceramic surface with a sinister clunk.

Clint cringed.

"Ta-daaaaa!" Tony Stark let out a quavering note of triumph, holding out the plate of blackened hamburgers.

A loud chorus of "No thank you"s and "I'll pass"s rang out on the back deck.

Loki smirked. "I'll take one."

The Avengers all gaped at the demigod as he rose from his seat on the deck railing and sauntered toward Tony, swiping a paper plate from the table on his way by. He held out the plate expectantly. Tony took the spatula and scooped up the top burger (coincidentally, it was also the most burnt specimen) and plopped it onto Loki's plate.

"Condiments in the kitchen," Clint informed him, fighting hard to keep a straight face.

Loki disappeared through the door. When he returned, it became extremely apparent that he had never eaten a burger before:

The mustard had been drizzled to one side, as if it were merely a dip and not a dressing. Two large pieces of cheese took the place of burger buns, and a lettuce leaf had been set to one side for later inspection. The pickles had a corner of the plate all to themselves as well, and were drenched in ketchup.

All eyes were on Loki as he picked up his Cheese-and-a-Burnt-Burger-Deluxe and took one big bite. He chewed for a long while, glancing from one smirking Avenger to the other, and then swallowed, a slow smile spreading across his pale face. "My congratulations to the cook," he announced suddenly in his refined British tones. All jaws dropped to the floor, and all eyes popped out of their respective heads. "I am pleased to inform you that this is quite positively the best thing I have ever tasted."

Tony Stark stared at Loki for a moment, plainly flustered, and then covered it up with a dramatic flourish of the spatula. "Finally! Somebody recognizes my talents!"

That earned him several loud guffaws from the rest of the Avengers.

* * *

_Review for more! _

_~Alassiel_


	20. Entry 20: Manhattan

_Hello, all! My apologies for the delay. School had been particularly draining lately, and I didn't remember to upload until today. _

_Before we go any further, I'd like to give a BIG thank-you to everyone who has read and reviewed this fanfiction: you've stuck with me all the way to Entry #20... I'm floored! You're all amazing, and I hope this chapter gives you lots of laughs. ;)_

_Also, this is the longest entry I've ever written, so hopefully that will make up for the wait. Enjoy it!_

* * *

Entry #20: Manhattan

Dark clouds had begun to loom in the distance, and before their barbecue was quite finished, a loud thunderclap shook the back deck.

Loki froze for a split-second, his green eyes wide and panicked, and then ran across the deck toward the door for the second time that evening.

Clint got up and ran after him. "No! Wait! Come back!" The last thing he wanted was for Loki to lock himself in the bathroom again. Clint had nothing left to bribe him with.

Back on the deck, the rain started to fall. Stark clapped a hand over the top of his Dr. Pepper glass and got to his feet, moving swiftly toward the kitchen. Natasha threw a tarp over the charred barbecue and began to collect the paper plates and bags of chips that were sitting on the table. Dr. Banner looked up as another streak of lightning flashed across the sky and sighed, rising from his chair and helping Natasha rescue the party stuffs.

Once everyone was safely inside, Natasha headed down the hallway toward the guest bedroom to retrieve the game of Twister she had thought to pack for just such an occasion.

On her way to the bedroom, she witnessed an odd spectacle. Clint was standing protectively in front of the bathroom, his arms spread out to encompass the width of the door, and Loki was crouched on the other side of the hallway, watching the SHIELD agent with narrowed eyes and a very dangerous look on his face as he held the toilet plunger aloft.

"Nat!" Clint gave Natasha a frantic look. "Tell this crazy demigod that he's not allowed to lock himself in the bathroom! There are other people in this house that might need to use it!"

Another peal of thunder rattled the house, but before Loki could stave in both Clint and the bathroom door with his toilet plunger, Natasha sighed and resigned herself to taking a detour. Obviously something had to be done. She grabbed Loki's arm—he turned to glare at her in surprise but said nothing—and marched him down the hall, through the kitchen, past his couch, and to the front closet.

"See this?" she said, her voice clipped and business-like.

Loki stared.

"This is a closet. It's just as safe as the bathroom." She opened the door and gave him a gentle shove. "And if you decide you don't like it, you can always just come back out. In you go."

Looking befuddled and extremely indignant, Loki stepped inside, brushing a hanger out of his face. It was dark and musty and somewhat cramped, but he decided that it looked harmless enough. Clint rarely cleaned out his closet, but there was just enough room for someone to stand in between the coats and sweaters and old winter hats.

"Excellent. Will you be okay in there?" Natasha smirked, setting one hand on her hip and cocking her head at him. Loki didn't exactly like the look she was giving him, but he nodded wordlessly. "Good. Just call if you need us."

With that, she shut the door and walked toward the bedroom. When she bypassed Clint in the hallway, he gave her a raised eyebrow. She gave him a thumbs-up in return. "We'll probably have at least a couple hours of peace before he starts yelling."

Clint blinked. "What did you do to him?"

"Do to him? Nothing. He has decided to take up residence in the closet," Natasha informed him.

"Nat…" Clint shook his head and sighed. "Do you not realize that the lunatic is now stuck in there? He can't open the door from the inside!"

"Of course he can't. And you're welcome." Natasha clapped him on the back and then continued down the hall toward the guest bedroom.

A slow smile worked its way across Clint's face. "What did I ever do to deserve you?"

"I don't know," Natasha called over her shoulder, "but it must have been pretty darned good!"

* * *

Ten minutes later, the dreaded game Twister had been set up on the living room floor, and Natasha was holding the board. "Alright! Who's playing?"

There was a moment of awkward silence before Clint spoke up. "Isn't Twister a kids' game?"

"No," Natasha said with a broad smile. "It's a game for the double-jointed. Although I do realize that some of you may not be as _young_ as you once were…"

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Clint.

"Well, you know, you get up there in years and arthritis sets in and you get a stiff back and creaky knees, and—"

"Are you saying," Clint began dangerously, "that I'm OLD?"

"Not at all." Natasha beamed at him, looking unusually angelic. "You're only what… forty? But I'll understand if you don't want to play. One more decade and you'll have hit the big five-oh."

"Oh for—I can't believe I let you talk me into this," muttered Clint, stepping up to the mat.

Stark stood next to him. "I'm in," he said simply.

"Good. Dr. Banner?" Natasha questioned.

Bruce shrugged his shoulders and trudged over to the mat. "I might as well."

Clint looked a little nervous. "Just you. Not the Other Guy. Right?"

With an intense stare, Bruce nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Right."

"Okay, then!" Natasha called out happily, sitting down on Loki's couch. "Last one to quit gets first dips on the double-layer chocolate fudge cake I hid in the refrigerator. Right hand, red!"

There was a mad scramble for the red dots on the mat. Clint almost fell over as Stark reached past him to claim the most promising circle.

Natasha spun the dial. "Left foot, yellow!"

All left feet were planted firmly on a yellow circle.

Five colors later, Stark was bent over backwards, Clint had twisted himself into a pretzel, and Dr. Banner had somehow managed to reach across both of them to claim an elusive green circle.

Ten colors later, Stark now appeared to be tackling Clint in slow motion, and Clint was having some difficulty reaching both a red circle with his right foot and a green circle with his left foot. And—caught in the middle—Dr. Banner looked to be on the verge of a Hulk-out.

Fifteen colors later, all three Avengers were ready to collapse on top of each other, and the dreaded green vein on Dr. Banner's forehead had swelled to an alarming size.

"Right hand… green!"

Clint reached awkwardly for a green circle, but Tony slapped a hand across Dr. Banner's forehead. Bruce took on the look of someone who had just been assaulted in the most violent manner.

All eyes widened in shock and horror (except for Tony's, of course).

Then the doorbell rang.

Clint flinched, but didn't move. He couldn't. Stark had him practically pinned to the mat.

Natasha cleared her throat and then said smoothly, "Dr. Banner. Why don't you take a break and go answer the door?"

Bruce extracted himself from the game and stretched, cracking his back. The throbbing vein in the middle of his forehead eased somewhat. "That… is a very good idea… Miss Romanoff."

"Well, then, no chocolate cake for Bruce," Natasha sang out, spinning the dial again.

When Bruce opened the door, he was greeted by the smiling face of one soaking-wet Captain Steve Rogers. The smile froze in place as he took in Bruce's clenched jaw and slightly greenish tinge.

"I… um… Good to see you again, Dr. Banner! Clint said… er… that you were having a barbecue," Steve stammered, taking several steps back. He was beginning to wish that he had brought along his shield. Although that may not have proved a very efficient weapon in the case of a Hulk-Out.

Bruce relaxed, and then said in shockingly mellow voice, "It rained on us." As if that was not blatantly obvious. The street was practically flooded.

Steve watched Dr. Banner for another minute or two, and then cautiously stepped past him into the house. Once inside, he stared at the ongoing game with a look of bemusement. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Playing Twister!" Natasha explained. "Would you like to join?"

The delighted look that spread across Steve's face more than answered for him: something new to try!

Clint had a hard time twisting his head around far enough to look over at the First Avenger, but he shrugged a shoulder at the closet. "Put your coat in there," he said tightly, trying to keep from falling flat on his face. No way was he giving up that chocolate fudge cake… He hadn't had one of those in ages.

Steve grinned like a little kid on Christmas morning, gave Clint a thumbs-up, and then marched over to the closet, removing his leather jacket and grasping the handle. Natasha held her breath and prayed that Loki would not automatically assume that the closet-door-opener was a hostile.

Steve opened the closet.

He stared.

He blinked.

And then he slammed the door shut again.

"Mister Barton!" he said loudly, taking a swift step back. "Did you know that Loki is in your closet?!"

Clint rolled his eyes skyward, but instead of looking up at the ceiling, he found himself staring up at Tony Stark's smirking face. He quickly looked away again. "Yes, Steve, I did know that."

"And that he is wearing your hat?"

Clint suddenly scrambled to his feet—sending Stark flying backwards into a wall—and dashed across the room to the entryway. "That I did not know!"

He wrenched the door open and came face-to-face with Loki. Indeed, the demigod was wearing Clint's favorite trilby hat. He was also sporting Clint's favorite jeans jacket.

Clint clenched his teeth. "What _is_ it with you and stealing my clothes?!"

"I have come to realize," intoned Loki, "that for a human, you have excellent taste in Midgardian apparel." As he said this, the demigod reached up and pushed the right side of the brim so that the hat sat on his head at a rakish angle.

Clint reached out with his lightning quick reflexes, jerked the hat off of Loki's head, and slammed the closet door closed.

"Looked better on him than it would on you." Tony was grinning from across the room.

At this comment, Clint jammed the trilby hat firmly on his own head and turned to face the billionaire. "That's not funny Stark! So tell us, did you ruin my barbeque just so that we would have to order shawarma?"

"No, but that's a great idea. I'm still hungry." And Tony whipped out his cell phone to do just that.

At that moment, there was a dull thump from inside the closet, and then a growl. Loki's muffled voice penetrated the door. "I am… hello? I'm stuck! There is no… that is, there does not seem to be a handle anywhere…" Scuffling noises emanated from the closet. "Will one of you mortals kindly open the door?"

Clint swaggered over. "What do I get out of it?" he inquired.

"Clint!" Natasha got up from Loki's couch and stalked past Agent Barton, flinging the closet door open. Loki stepped out, still sporting the jeans jacket, and still holding his toilet plunger. He bowed stiffly, and then sauntered over to his couch, where he sat down with a look of supreme condescension.

"Well then," Natasha said, brushing off her hands and smiling at her little troop of boys. "Clint left early, so Stark gets the cake."

Clint looked extremely put out.

* * *

A few hours later, Stark was sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling in yet another mouthful of double-layer chocolate fudge cake, and Clint was sitting across from him, glaring fiercely out of the corner of his eye. Captain America had claimed a chair next to Stark, and was digging into the leftover shawarma.

Loki had poured himself a glass of Dr. Pepper and had stationed himself on the couch once again, very close to his "Awesome" balloon. Every time it thundered outside, he got the wide-eyed look of a frightened cat and twitched nervously.

The clock ticked on the wall.

Several more minutes passed.

Stark finished his cake.

Natasha brought out a puzzle game (which Stark busily went to work on).

And then there was another tremendous peal of thunder. At the same moment, a deep and bellowing voice echoed through the house: "MY FRIENDS! ARE YOU DOWN THERE?"

Everyone jumped. There were no exceptions.

Clint and Natasha sprinted into the living room to find that Loki had squeezed himself underneath the couch and was peering frantically around the room.

Stark and Captain America came rushing in behind them. And they all waited.

A small scratching sound entered the room. Clint's teeth were visibly chattering: _Who was this new intruder?_

"HELLO?"

The voice of doom spoke yet again, but this time it sounded less daunting and more familiar. It was coming from… the chimney?

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ODIN DO YOU USE THIS TINY LITTLE DOOR FOR? I DID NOT KNOW THAT MORTALS PUT DOORS ON TOP OF THEIR HOUSES. THIS IS A STRANGE CUSTOM INDEED."

Everyone visibly relaxed at this. Except for Loki, who was trying valiantly to melt through the floor.

"Use the front door, Thor!" Natasha suggested loudly. "And what on earth are you doing on the roof?!"

"I LANDED HERE OF COURSE! IN MY DEFENSE, I WAS _ABOUT_ TO GO DOWN TO THE FRONT DOOR, BUT I WONDERED WHAT THIS LITTLE PASSAGEWAY LED TO. UNFORTUNATELY, I COULD NOT FIT INSIDE."

"Thank heavens," breathed Clint.

* * *

_Hope you had fun reading this entry - Review!_

_~Alassiel_

_P.S. I hope I'm not alone in my love of Twister... XD_


	21. Entry 21: Sleepover

Entry #21: Manhattan (or, "Sleepover")

Thor was more than happy to greet each Avenger with their own personal bear hug (much to Clint's chagrin) but when he was finished, he took a second look around the living room. "AND WHERE IS MY BROTHER? I WAS TOLD I COULD FIND HIM HERE!"

Natasha pointed wordlessly at the couch.

"LOKI?"

Thor bent all the way over, until his head was almost touching the floor, and then let out a pleased exclamation: "BROTHER! WHATEVER ARE YOU DOING BENEATH THAT CHAIR?"

Loki glared at Thor and slowly slithered out from under his couch. "That's none of your business."

The taller, blonder demigod brushed off this curt response and gathered his sadistic little brother up in his arms in yet another Thor-worthy hug. Loki's eyeballs looked ready to pop out of their sockets, and he let out one wheezing gasp for air. When he was finally let go, Loki stumbled backwards and collapsed on the couch, panting heavily.

Thor then turned back to Clint—the master of this particular house (at least he used to be)—and said quite jovially, "CLINT! YOU DON'T HAPPEN TO HAVE ANY POPTARTS, DO YOU? I'M FAMISHED!"

Clint groaned. "Sure, sure, just go to the kitchen. Decimate my pantry. Clean out my fridge."

His sarcasm was completely lost on the larger-than-life demigod. "RIGHT AWAY, MY GOOD FRIEND! A THOUSAND THANKS!" And Thor stomped away to the pantry.

The silence that filled the room after he left was palpable.

Then Clint brought up a very serious question, and it was probably one he did not want to know the answer to: "You're not… _all_… spending the night here, are you?"

The Avengers all looked at each other and shrugged.

"Well?" demanded Clint.

"I am," said Natasha.

Tony smirked. "Well, if you could set me up with a bed, I'll stay."

"There are no more beds. Unless you want mine, and _I'll _sleep on the floor," grumbled Clint.

"Sure. I could go for that," Tony said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I was hoping you'd say _no_…"

"I suppose I can handle a sleeping bag for one night," Bruce contributed. "That is, if you don't mind."

"Oh no, not at all…"

"Thor will probably be staying, too, then," Natasha reminded Clint.

Clint winced. "Yes, of course…"

Steve grinned. "I guess it would be nothing short of disloyal to desert you all," he surmised.

"Nothing short of it…"

Loki immediately attempted to console Clint by saying, in a very sad, doleful tone of voice, "Well, if there's no room, I suppose I should leave now."

"Nice try."

* * *

_All the Avengers have finally arrived - Review for more of Clint and Company! ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	22. Entry 22: Loki vs the Clock

_This fanfiction just hit the one-hundred mark in reviews! You are all amazing... I never thought this little story would do half so well!_

_God bless, and enjoy the next entry. ;)_

* * *

Entry #22: Manhattan [or, "Loki vs. the Clock"]

It was about half an hour past midnight, and Loki was still awake.

He wasn't sure why. He had always been a light sleeper, but since he had not slept at all the night before, this was getting to be a bit ridiculous.

It may have been the two glasses of Dr. Pepper.

It may have been the itchy plaid pajamas Natasha had picked out for him.

Or it may have been the fact that the god of thunder was cocooned in a sleeping bag at the other side of the living room.

The instant his adoptive brother started snoring, Loki rolled off the couch, crawled across the floor, and - with a tremendous effort - shoved Thor over on his side. He snorted, but didn't wake up. It was a handy little trick that usually worked. Thankfully, it worked in this instance as well, and Loki slunk back to his couch and curled up in a ball on one cushion, hoping that sleep would overcome him quickly.

Unfortunately, as soon as Thor stopped snoring, a soft ticking sound from the kitchen became painfully audible.

It began as a small annoyance, but the longer Loki lay awake, the louder it seemed.

* * *

At one o' clock in the morning, Loki decided he had finally had enough. Grumbling curses to himself, he got up from his couch, tripped over the rolled-up Twister mat (which nobody had bothered to put away), grumbled a few more curses, and padded into the kitchen.

Now, where was that_ infernal_ ticking noise coming from?

After prowling around for several minutes, Loki pinpointed the source of the disturbance: the round little dial on the wall.

Loki was tall—extremely so—but when faced with the task of removing the ticking appliance from its station high above the kitchen sink, he found his height woefully inadequate. He prepared to use magic to retrieve his victim, but then he remembered the Allfather's nasty proclamation: _No magic._ With a loud sigh, he grabbed a chair, dragged it over to the counter, and stood on top of it. There!

Loki grabbed the clock with a vengeance, yanked it off the wall, and put the chair back where it belonged. Mumbling threats to the inanimate object, he marched back into the living room and stuffed the clock under the couch cushions, between two pairs of his new blue jeans.

Ten seconds later, he realized that more drastic measures would have to be taken. He could still hear that incessant ticking...

Pulling the clock out from under the cushion, Loki glared at it in the semi-darkness. "Cease your noise-making, little wretch!"

But the clock just kept on ticking, ignorant of Loki's demand.

"Very well." Loki clenched the clock in an iron fist and rose from his couch yet again, this time striding swiftly back into the kitchen and glancing around. Ah-ha!

With a determined scowl, Loki flung open the dishwasher, pulled out the top rack, and jammed the clock into the spokes. Then he shut the door, turned the dial to "Heavy Wash," stepped back, and waited. Clint's dishwasher started with a low, gentle hum. Loki could still hear the ticking, faintly, but upon reentering the living room he realized that it was no longer audible from his couch.

Sinking down into the cushions with a rather smug smile, Loki closed his eyes and listened to the pleasant hum of the dishwasher.

* * *

At one-thirty, a truly dreadful thing happened:

_Something_ touched his face.

Something soft.

Something furry.

Something warm.

Something ALIVE!

Horrified, Loki froze, and then cracked one eyelid open, not even daring to breathe. Two equally green eyes stared into his. They were set in a black, fluffy face, and crowned by two gently pointed ears.

The thing batted at his face again, and Loki forced himself remain calm.

…For about two seconds.

Then he flipped off the couch, swiped madly at his face, shrieked like a little girl, and darted across the living room to nimbly scale the light fixture standing in one corner. He clung to the lampshade on top and held his breath, terrified.

Still ensconced in his sleeping bag on the floor, Thor rolled into his former position on his back and moaned in his sleep, mumbling, "I will… save you… Jane Foster…"

Even in his present state of panic, Loki managed an eyeroll at his brother's sleepy words.

Then he saw a dark fluffy blob sitting in the middle of the living room floor. A blob with pointy ears. It stared up at him in quiet bewilderment, letting out a squeaking call that sounded vaguely like, "Eeow?"

Loki slowly slid down the lamp and crouched on the floor, watching this new disturbance with a wary eye.

"Eeow?" the thing chirped again, cocking its head at Loki. Then it rose to its fuzzy black paws and began to saunter across the floor toward the disgruntled demigod.

"Stay where you are, foul demon!" Loki hissed, inching backwards, but the small, fat little menace was undeterred. When it was a mere six inches away from Loki's bare toes, the thing squeaked again and stared up at him with those luminous green eyes.

Loki did not react in the usual manner of the mortalsupon being confronted by a cute, cuddly little kitty. Instead, he shuddered with revulsion and, taking the cat carefully in both hands, held it as far away from his body as possible. Then he stood up and made a beeline for the—

"OOMPH!"

_(Curse that Twister mat)_

—bathroom. At least if it was locked in there, this bothersome creature could not interrupt his beauty sleep.

Loki opened the door to the bathroom, flipped on the light, stalked inside, and carefully placed the menace on the rug (though what he really felt like doing was throwing that darned cat under the sink and slamming the cupboard door).

With Clint's cat safely tucked away in the bathroom, Loki thought that, perhaps, he would finally get some rest.

* * *

At two o' clock, the furnace came on.

Loki groaned and buried his face in his hands for a moment. Then he heaved himself up off the comfortable leather couch, stumbled over to the thermostat, and stood there for a moment, staring at it with bleary eyes.

How had Clint done this earlier?

He had flipped a switch.

But which one?

After some fiddling around, Loki managed to turn off the furnace (thank goodness) and went back to his couch, collapsing on the cushions and throwing an arm across his eyes. The next thing that bothered him would meet a very, very unfortunate end indeed.

At three o' clock, the dishwasher had finally stopped running, but a new and much less soothing noise took its place: it was a brief crunching sound, and then a soft buzz that came from somewhere in the kitchen. About two minutes later, the crunching sound repeated itself, and the buzzing continued.

Falling off of the couch and onto the floor, Loki lay there for a moment, utterly exhausted, before dragging himself upright for the fourth time. He gazed silently up at his balloon for a few moments just to muster the courage he needed to cope with this fresh annoyance. His day had certainly been a far cry from "awesome" thus far. With a scowl that looked more sleepy than sinister, Loki trudged wearily into the kitchen.

The buzz was coming from the fridge. What on Midgard…?

Loki bent closer, examining the door of the appliance. The crunching sound had vaguely resembled the noise the refrigerator-ice had made when Clint had filled Loki's Dr. Pepper glass. Perhaps—

The crunching, thumping noise sounded again, and Loki jumped, taking a few hasty steps backwards. But nothing happened.

Loki glared at the ice dispenser.

That was it. That silly ice was rattling around in there. Well, he thought to himself, if it hoped to deprive him of a few hours' precious sleep, it was badly mistaken.

If all the ice was gone, there would surely be no more annoying clinking and clanking from the refrigerator.

Opening up the cupboard above the sink, Loki removed Clint's salad bowl from the shelf and held it under the ice dispenser. Then he pressed one pale finger down on the button and waited. Ice flooded from the refrigerator in a steady stream. When it filled the salad bowl to the brim, Loki placed it on the floor and reached for a breakfast bowl. He filled that one, too. And another. And another.

The refrigerator kept letting out annoying beeps and buzzes, and occasionally that extremely loud crunching sound, but Loki did not give up easily. He would NOT be beaten by this annoying Midgardian ice-machine.

When all of the bowls were at the point of overflow, Loki began filling all of Clint's glasses and coffee mugs, one at a time.

When he had filled the last glass and set it down on the table with the others, the refrigerator seemed to have been subdued. It made no noise but for the regular low thrum of the fan.

Tired beyond belief, Loki stepped over a fruit bowl filled with half-melted ice and made his way back to the living room. When he reached the couch, he fell onto the cushions and lay there, weary and satisfied.

At four o' clock, he was shaken out of his stupor by a loud and grating _crrrunnnch_ from the direction of the kitchen.

Loki tensed.

Then the buzzing started.

Frantic, Loki finally resorted to wrapping three of his new T-shirts around his head in order to block out that diabolical racket.

At five o' clock, the demigod was rendered unconscious, simply from pure and unadulterated exhaustion.

* * *

Clint woke up at six-thirty that morning to the unpleasant sight of the notorious insomniac Tony Stark dissecting Clint's bedroom alarm clock. ("This thing is defective!" he had exclaimed in self-defense). Clint considered giving the genius a lecture, but then thought better of it and sighed heavily, wriggling out of his sleeping bag. He decided to take that much-needed shower he had been denied the previous day, and stepped out into the hallway.

Upon opening the bathroom door, he was surprised to hear an ecstatic _"EEAAAOOWWW!"_ and see Fluffy leap out the door and go zipping past him down the hallway.

Shaking his head, Clint closed the door and ran the hot water.

Half an hour later he had showered and dressed himself, and then headed to the kitchen for a bite to eat. He stopped in the doorway and blinked several times, wondering if he was still dreaming.

Every bowl in his house was sitting on the tiled floor, filled half-full of water. And the polished oaken surface of his table could not be seen. It was buried beneath every glass, mug, and cup he owned. And each one was filled almost to the brim as well.

His brand-new wok was sitting on the counter, also full of water, and so were most of his sauce pans.

Clint wondered what, exactly, had gone on while he was sleeping.

Stepping around his favorite salad bowl, Clint paused in front of the dishwasher. The little green light announced that the cycle was complete.

Clint frowned. He hadn't started a load of dishes before going to bed the previous night.

Opening up the door to release a puff of steam, Clint coughed and peered inside. "What the—oh—_uh-oh_…"

Clint pulled out the top rack and stared down in horror at his old clock, which had been fused to the metal rungs. Something that vaguely resembled two melted clock hands fell to the floor.

"LOKI!"

* * *

_My excuse for all the ridiculous fluffy angst you just read: I LOVE LOKI! And I also love bringing him to his knees once in a while..._

_This entry should probably have been called "Loki vs. the Clock, the Cat, the Refrigerator, and the Thermostat", but that IS a bit cumbersome, and wouldn't have fit in the chapter title. ;)_

_Review!_

_~Alassiel_


	23. Entry 23: Of iPods and T-shirts

Entry #23: Manhattan [or, "Of iPods and T-shirts"]

After Clint had emptied, dried, and put away every glass and dish that Loki had filled with ice earlier that morning, and irritably slammed the broken dishwasher shut, he poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down at the kitchen table.

He was soon joined by Stark, who opened the refrigerator and promptly seized the last of the leftover shawarma. After sitting down at the table with Clint and taking several huge bites, he said in a muffled voice, "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

Clint pushed the rest of his cereal away from him and said grimly, "Balloons."

Tony stopped chewing and stared at him. "Balloons?"

"Balloons. And a driving lesson. I promised Loki yesterday that I'd let him drive my sports car," mumbled Clint.

Tony finished the last bite of shawarma and got up from the table, heading over to the coffee maker. "I'm sorry, did I just hear that correctly? You're going to let the guy who tried to destroy New York drive your car? With you in it? Whoa. Big mistake."

"You got a suggestion? I _promised_ him a trip to the grocery store!" Clint complained with a hefty sigh.

Tony shrugged, and then grinned at the SHIELD agent. "Can I come?"

Clint slowly turned to stare at Tony. "What?"

"If you let me come and witness this… _fiasco_, I will return your alarm clock, your TV, and your laptop back to their original mediocre settings."

"Yeah. Right. That's all I need," Clint mumbled. "You in the car giving Loki hot-rodding tips.

Stark shrugged. "Up to you."

"I really think I ought to handle this by myself," Clint explained.

"Well, try not to let him kill you." With that piece of encouragement, Stark grabbed the pot of coffee and disappeared into the back hallway.

* * *

"Hey! Bling Boy and Green Guy! You up yet?" he yelled, knocking on the door to Clint's office.

Steve answered him with, "Of course! Come in, Mr. Stark."

Stark opened the door to find Bruce Banner sitting at Clint's computer desk clicking and clacking away at the keyboard, and Steve sitting cross-legged on his sleeping bag, holding something that looked vaguely like an iPod-touch. The first had a look of intense concentration on his face. The latter, an expression of complete and utter bewilderment.

Tony rolled his eyes, trying to find his inner big brother mentality—and a generous helping of patience. "Steve."

The Captain looked up at Tony with some concern. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

Steve glanced back down at the iPod and sighed. "I honestly don't know."

Stark grumbled something under his breath and took a seat next to Steve. He very gently extracted the iPod from Steve's grasp and scooted closer, holding it up so that they could both see the touch-screen. "Alright. For starters, you don't just use your thumbs. You use your pointer finger. And second of all, I would _not _recommend learning by way of playing countless games of 'Fruit Ninja,' because that could be frustrating and detrimental to the entire experience. Now, in order to grasp the concept of the touch-screen…" And Tony launched into one of his unnecessarily technical explanations, much to Steve's dismay.

* * *

Clint grabbed the car keys off the counter and also grabbed his cell phone. He may need backup. Fortunately, he had Natasha's cell number on speed dial.

"Loki?" he called, stalking into the living room. Loki was slumped on his couch, still in his rumpled plaid pajamas and looking rather tired, and Thor was sitting in a chair in one corner, still clothed in his Asgardian garb and eating amazingly large spoonfuls of peanut-butter right out of the jar.

"Loki, come on, get up, we're going to the grocery store. C'mon, get moving!"

Loki looked up at Clint with undisguised scorn, tossed aside one of the couch cushions, grabbed a wrinkled black T-shirt and a pair of dark, distressed blue-jeans, and then began to trudge toward the bathroom in a most slothful manner.

Clint glared at him on his way by and meaningfully tapped the face of his watch.

Loki ignored him.

When the demigod reappeared, he was fully clothed and wearing a pair of black tennis shoes. On further inspection, Clint noticed that the shoes were heelys, and he wondered what on earth had attracted Loki to that particular pair. The black T-shirt—now unfolded—could be much more clearly seen: there was a cartoon drawing of a sad little prickly cactus on the front, and beneath it was written, "Hugz?"

Clint decided that might be closer to the truth than he had originally thought, and vowed to at least tolerate Loki today.

* * *

_Thanks for reading... review if you're looking forward to seeing Clint Barton give Loki a driving lesson! XD_

_~Alassiel_


	24. Entry 24: Driving Lesson

_Thank you all for your reviews! I'm glad you're still enjoying this story. ;)_

_And so, the adventure continues..._

* * *

Entry #24: Manhattan [or, "Driving Lesson"]

"Now… _ahem_," Clint settled into the driver's seat of his black sports car and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He felt a drop of sweat trickle down his temple and hastily wiped it away. "Please pay attention."

Loki flashed him one of those 'You-Funny-Little-Mortal' grins that reminded Clint of his days as the demigod's pawn, and then said smoothly, "Oh, of course."

Clearing his throat again, Clint put the car in reverse and slowly backed out of the driveway. "Do you see what I'm doing with my feet?"

Loki leaned uncomfortably close in order to see the pedals, and then nodded.

"Good. This one's gas, this one's break. One to go forward, and one to stop. But—" Clint promptly shifted the gears to put the car in drive and pressed the gas pedal again. "Make sure the car is in the right gear. See these little lights?" And he explained to Loki what _Park, Drive_, _Neutral,_ and_ Reverse_ meant. "Whatever you do," he finished, "Make SURE that the car is in the right gear. If you pull a fender-bender on some little old lady's Volkswagen, you're paying for the damages."

One corner of Loki's mouth twitched into an amused smile.

Clint tried his best to ignore him. "Now… uh… here is the turn signal. When you are about to turn right, you flip this one on. When you are about to turn left, you flip that one on. That way, the people around you what you're doing."

Loki gave Clint a very unimpressed stare. "And what is the point of that?"

"So that they don't crash into my car and kill us," Clint said flatly.

"Ah. But you forget – I am immortal," Loki reminded him.

"But I'm not! And if you crash this car and I die…" Clint wracked his brain for a suitable threat. "If I die, Agent Romanoff is next in line for your guardianship."

Loki's cheeky smile quickly melted. "Ah. I see. Carry on, then."

"This is the wheel," Clint explained. "You turn it whichever way you want to go. But not too hard," he warned. "And you MUST look both ways before turning at a corner, and make sure to stay on the right side of the road at all times. There are lights hanging above the street. The one dangling above your lane is the one that tells you what to do. Red means stop. Green means go. And yellow means that you should probably either jam on the gas or jam on the breaks, depending on the situation."

"Excellent." Loki waited for several minutes, examining Clint's every move, and then requested politely, "May I take my turn?"

Clint stiffened, clenching the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Yeah… okay… but don't drive past the speed limit. That gauge right there tells you how fast you're going. And the signs on the road tell you the number that the needle should hit. Don't go any faster than that or you'll get us pulled over, and I'll have one heckuva time explaining why you don't have a driver's license."

Grimacing, Clint opened his door and got out of the car, and Loki did the same. They met at the front fender, passed each other, and switched seats. Clint buckled in with some trepidation. Before Loki could push the gas pedal, he reached over and grabbed the wheel. Tightly. "One more thing."

Loki turned to stare at the mortal with more than a little indignation.

"You so much as scratch the paint on my $200,000 sports car—let alone TOTAL my $200,000 sports car—and you, Sir, are dead meat. Do we understand each other?"

"Quite."

Clint nodded stiffly. "Okay then. Step on it."

Loki did 'step on it,' with such gusto that Clint's head snapped back and he found himself plastered against the passenger's seat. "Slower!" he instructed, in a voice that was more panicked than assertive.

Loki obediently eased up on the gas pedal, but as he did, he veered to the left, so that the car was heading directly into oncoming traffic.

"GET BACK IN THE RIGHT LANE!" Clint shouted frantically, trying to catch hold of the wheel—but Loki swerved, and Clint was thrown almost into the demigod's lap, despite his seatbelt.

Burning rubber, Loki steered the sports car back into the other lane, but went a little too far and scraped the curb with the tire.

"Gah!" Clint finally grabbed the wheel and tried to direct the car back into the middle of the lane, but Loki brushed his hand away.

Eventually he seemed to figure out how to handle the steering wheel, but Clint did not sigh in relief. Not yet.

Two minutes passed with Clint barking out simple directions that would take them on the fastest route to the grocery store and Loki obediently turning either right or left. They had a couple of close calls with pedestrians that nearly gave Clint a heart-attack... Every time he began to relax, another crisis instantly occurred.

Then Loki aimed for the blinker but flipped on the wipers instead. He recoiled, his eyeballs bugging out of his head, and immediately began to zigzag, trying to shake their attackers off the windshield.

Clint reached out to flip the wipers off, but in his haste he accidentally hit the soap, and two white streaks of foam flashed across the windshield, blocking their view of the road.

"STOP THE CAR!" bellowed Clint.

A surprised Loki slammed on the breaks—throwing Clint face-first into the windshield—and started to perform a Chinese fire drill right in the middle of the road; however, Clint snagged his sleeve before he could step out of the car and quickly explained the concept of "windshield wipers" to the demigod.

Loki listened nervously, and then slowly closed his door and just sat there for a moment, looking somewhat flustered (a new experience for the immortal, Clint decided).

When Loki finally pulled into the grocery parking lot—a triumph that Clint had feared he might not live long enough to witness—Clint told Loki exactly how and where to park the car. Fortunately, he was able to do this with little difficulty.

Clint opened his door, fell out of the car, and literally kissed the ground. Then he got up and began to hobble toward the automatic doors.

* * *

"Yes, that's what I said. We'd like to buy ALL of the balloons," snapped Clint, feeling completely ridiculous.

After a minute of finagling, Clint and Loki were walking back to the car, both of them holding five balloons in each hand.

When they reached the car, they both stopped and stared at it for a moment. Then Clint shifted all ten balloons to one hand (with some effort) and opened the door.

"I think," Clint began firmly, sitting down in the driver's seat and trying to keep from getting the balloons caught in the door, "you should let ME drive on the way home. I only said I would let you drive it _to_ the store, not back to the house."

Loki acquiesced without much bother, and Clint sighed, feeling better about the ordeal.

Once safely buckled in, Clint and Loki found themselves surrounded by twenty bobbing balloons. Annoyed, Clint demanded that Loki keep his new merchandise away from the windows. The demigod immediately began trying to corral his slippery, obnoxious stash of balloons, which usually ended up in Clint's face despite his efforts.

* * *

Natasha jumped her cell phone vibrated in her pocket, and an automated female voice announced, "Call from: My Dear Clinton."

And then the ring tone began. Natasha had a certain ring tone for every person on her contacts list.

Nick Fury's was the 'Imperial March' from Star Wars.

Steve Rogers's was 'America the Beautiful.'

Bruce Banner's was 'Monster' by Skillet.

And Clint Barton's was the love theme from 'Casablanca.'

Fishing the phone out of her pocket, Natasha sprawled out on the bed in the guest bedroom and held the cell to her ear. "Clint?"

"_NAT! I'M ALIVE!"_

Natasha yanked the cell phone away from her ear, and then slowly returned it to its proper place. "…Of course you are," she said, wrinkling her forehead.

"_Trust me. It's a miracle. We're on our way home right now."_

"We?"

"_Driving lessons. Remember?"_

"Oh yes… I do remember you grumbling something about it last night."

"_Well, I survived."_

"Glad to hear it." Natasha thought for a moment. "Hey, while you're out of the house, can you do me a favor?"

"_What is it, Nat?"_ Clint suddenly sounded suspicious.

"Take Loki to the Bellavia Salon. That boy needs a haircut."

Dead silence.

"Well?"

"_Well what?"_

"Will you?"

"_You mean you weren't kidding?"_

Natasha rolled her eyes. "At least get it trimmed. He's already used up three bottles of my lilac-scented shampoo—in two days!"

"_Nat, he's a demigod. I'm sorry about your shampoo, but I am NOT taking this… this _thing_ to the Bellavia. And besides, have you seen all the hair styles out right now? He blends right in. Nobody's really given him a second look."_

There was some static in the background.

"_Loki, may I remind you who paid for those balloons? … Thank you."_

Natasha sighed, smirking. "Okay Clint. I'll set up an appointment while you're driving there. Will you or won't you?"

There was a very long pause. And then the wry words, _"Your wish is my command."_

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed Entry 24!_

_Review for more... :)_

_~Alassiel_


	25. Entry 25: The Further Adventures of Loki

_Many, many thanks for the all your wonderful reviews! I love to make people laugh, and I'm thrilled that you've all been so supportive. Uploading these is definitely an enjoyable experience. I hope this story will continue to bring you smiles! ;)_

* * *

Entry #25: Manhattan [or, "The Further Adventures of Loki Laufeyson"]

Clint was dubious from the very start, but he told Loki to "sit down in that chair over there" and handed him a magazine of various hair styles. Loki took it, flipped through it in about ten seconds, and then handed it back, obviously not interested.

The lady at the counter peered at them over the rim of her fashionable glasses and cleared her throat. "I'm guessing your appointment was for…" She pointed at Loki, sitting there with his long black hair hanging down past his shoulders.

Loki glared back in annoyance.

"Uh, yeah," Clint stepped in.

"Well, then, if Mister… uh… the name here is 'Barton', but which one of you—"

"I'm Barton. He's Big-Shot," Clint filled in dryly. "But it's Big-Shot who has an appointment."

The lady didn't bat an eye. "Mr. Big-Shot, if you would kindly step into the first room on the left?"

Loki slowly rose to his feet, looking rather defensive, so Clint quickly stood as well and steered him toward the door. "Of course."

When they got inside, Clint instructed Loki to sit down in the barber-chair, which he did with a look of extreme suspicion.

Several minutes later, a short, plump, middle-aged woman walked in with a cheerful, "Hello! How are you today?"

Then she pulled out a huge, purple plastic bib and tried to wrap it around Loki's neck. The immortal nearly had a conniption fit.

Clint calmly explained to the insulted demigod that the bib was perfectly harmless, and with a fierce and nerve-shattering glare, Loki finally complied.

By this time, the hairdresser was looking rather uneasy, but Clint assured her that Loki was a perfectly safe individual, if a little eccentric at times. "He doesn't live near here," he explained. "And he's a bit of a sociopath, I'm afraid."

Unfortunately, both of them soon discovered that Loki did not treasure the idea of anyone approaching his head with a set of shears. He watched the hairdresser warily out of the corner of his eye as she drew near with her scissors and spray bottle, and then—when she got within three feet of the chair—leaped to his feet and sprinted out the door, still sporting the purple leopard-print bib.

After offering the woman a hasty apology and quickly blurting out a random explanation (which had quite a lot to do with a tragic accident concerning a pair of pruning shears at the very tender and impressionable age of five) Clint darted out the door after him.

The lady at the desk did not bother to look up as they shot past, only reciting in a monotone voice, "Thank you for coming to Bellavia Salon. I hope you will make another appointment the next time you need a trim or a—"

But Clint didn't hear the rest, as he had already flown out the door and was hotly pursuing Loki across the parking lot. He vaguely wondered how many customers the lady had seen running pell-mell through the waiting room and decided that maybe leaving early had actually been in Loki's best interests.

"Loki! Loki, come back here this instant!"

Loki did not come back. By the time Clint caught up to him, Loki was sitting motionless in the passenger's seat of Clint's car, clutching a particularly festive balloon to his chest. And he was still wearing that ridiculous bib.

"Loki…" Clint scooted into the driver's seat and slammed the door, aiming a glare in the demigod's direction.

Loki didn't glare back. He just sat there as if in a daze, looking shocked, horrified, and mad. One eyelid twitched slightly, but that was the only move he made.

Clint began to feel some guilt for not telling him what would happen once they got to the Salon. "Look, I'm sorry, it was Nat's idea," he said, naturally trying to shove the blame on someone else.

When Loki still refused to look him in the eye, Clint sighed and turned the key in the ignition, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the parking lot. "And _please_, take that thing off," he pleaded, glancing at the purple bib.

Loki yanked it over his head and scrunched it up, stuffing it under the seat.

An uncomfortable ride home followed: neither of them said another word.

Clint turned up the radio; Loki turned it down.

Clint rolled down the window; Loki rolled it back up.

Clint switched on the air conditioning; Loki switched it off.

* * *

_Review!_

_~Alassiel_


	26. Entry 26: Dangerous Household Appliances

Entry #26: Manhattan [or, "Captain America and the Dangerous Household Appliance"]

Natasha was sitting anxiously by the window, clutching her cell phone and waiting for Clint to pull into the driveway. There was no telling what had happened in the Bellavia Salon. She could only hope that Clint would walk through the door in one piece, and Loki would follow close behind sporting a crewcut (or at least a serious trim job).

Several more moments passed in silence.

And then Natasha heard a loud bang in the kitchen—like the sound made by frying pans clinking together in the cupboard.

Alarmed, Nat got up and marched into Clint's kitchen. Her brow deeply furrowed when she saw Steve Rogers bent over and rummaging around in the drawers.

"Cap?"

Steve straightened instantly and whirled around to see Natasha standing in the doorway. He was holding an open cookbook in one hand. "Yes, Miss Romanoff?"

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to make fudge-mint brownies," he confessed. "I found the recipe in this book, and Clint had marked it as a favorite, so…"

"Steve. Can you cook?"

Steve glanced down at the old, greasy cookbook, looking a little disappointed. "Well, sort of. I know how to make pancakes!"

Natasha sighed and started to leave. "Alright, but promise to call me if you need any help?"

The captain immediately brightened. "Of course! But I'm sure I can handle this by myself, Miss Romanoff."

"For Clint's sake, I _really_ hope so," Natasha warned him. "He's had a very stressful weekend."

Steve saluted. "You don't have to worry about a thing. This looks very easy. I'm sure I can make these brownies."

Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes and stalked toward her post by the window. She hoped Clint got home soon. Tony had already re-programmed his computer twice and installed JARVIS, accidentally blown a breaker three times (although to his credit he had gone to the breaker box in the pantry and reset the power for the house), and somehow managed to reset the alarm on Clint's clock to say, _"Good morning, demigod-sitter. Welcome back to reality."_

Dr. Banner had mostly laid low all morning, although he had politely requested the use of Clint's laptop once or twice.

* * *

Back in the kitchen, Steve had gotten out a mixing bowl and most of the ingredients listed on the page. He couldn't find any milk, so he used coffee creamer instead. Unfortunately, pumpkin flavor was the only kind available. But pumpkins were tasty, right?

When he got to the part that read, "Use a mixer to blend ingredients," he stopped and thought for a moment. Why use a hand-mixer? Steve had seen a few electric mixers in his day, but he'd never had the opportunity to use one. Clint had pulled out a sleek, modern electric mixer the previous night in order to make a batch of chocolate-chip cookie dough. Thor had eaten the whole thing before the dough had a chance to become actual cookies, however.

Steve had never really been much for cooking, but he'd always wanted to try one of those neat electric mixers. Smiling broadly, Steve plugged in the mixer and set it down on the counter for later use.

Then he began dumping the ingredients into the large glass bowl.

* * *

Natasha was still sitting by the window, staring at the driveway.

…and then Clint's sports car pulled up.

Leaping from the chair, Natasha sprinted to the door and hurriedly punched in the combination, blurting out some random nonsense to appease the voice-print monitor. When the lock finally clicked, Nat flung the door open.

Two men were standing on the front porch… one of them considerably taller than the other. The taller man was pale, grim, and held a balloon in one hand. The shorter man held about twenty more balloons, all of them bobbing above his head in a giant cloud.

Natasha was extremely disappointed to see that Loki's hair was still the exact same length and style, complete with the annoying bird-perch-like layering effect in the back. "…I'm guessing the appointment was canceled?"

Clint stalked in, releasing the balloons once he reached the living room. They all floated up to the ceiling. "Something like that," he growled. "I need caffeine. Now."

Before he could enter the kitchen, Natasha remembered that Steve wanted to surprise Clint, and grabbed his sleeve. "Umm… no, I think you need to sit down. I'll get you a root beer, okay?"

Clint gave Natasha an eyeroll. "Please, Nat, don't try that 'Miss Goody-Two-Shoes' stuff on me. Not after what you put me through _today."_

Nat flashed him an innocent look. "Whatever do you mean?"

Clint turned his Wide-Eyed-Stare-of-Incredulity on Natasha. "What do you MEAN 'what do you mean'?!" he accused. "I did what you told me to—against my better judgment—and took the big galoot to the Bellavia Salon! Our exit was less than dignified, and on _top _of that I'll probably face charges for theft, since Loki walked out with that purple leopard-print whatsit…"

Loki said nothing (he was still trying to figure out whether "big galoot" was an insult) but Nat sighed and reached out to hug Clint. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Clint pulled away, brushed off his jacket and resumed his march to the kitchen. "You're darned _right_ it won't."

"Wait, Clint—"

Suddenly a very loud electronic buzz came from the kitchen, and then a shout, followed by loud coughing.

Clint sprinted into the kitchen, fearing the worst. Nat and Loki were close behind.

The sight that greeted him was so extremely bizarre that Clint had to perform three double-takes in a row before it actually registered.

Steve was standing by the counter, holding Clint's brand-new mixer at arm's length. It was stuffed down in the glass bowl and spinning on high-speed. A deadly mixture of sugar, baking powder, and all-purpose flour was forming a thick dust storm in the kitchen.

The two egg yolks and one-and-a-half cups of coffee creamer were sitting peacefully in a little bowl to one side. Obviously Steve had gotten the idea that it would be somehow beneficial to mix the dry ingredients separately. Or maybe he just wanted to experience a snow-storm in the middle of July. His motives were not entirely clear at this point.

Steve turned around in time to see Clint's jaw drop five feet to the floor, and Nat and Loki standing on either side of him with similar looks of disbelief.

"OH, CLINT!" Steve shouted to make himself heard above the whirling mixer. "YOU'RE BACK SO SOON!" His eyes were nearly as round as Clint's. "I'M NOT QUITE SURE I'M DOING THIS RIGHT, AND THE SWITCH IS STUCK! COULD YOU—?"

Steve tried to turn to face Clint, but the rotating mixer caught on the bowl and the whole thing crashed to the kitchen floor in a poof of flour. All at once, the spinning dervish that was Clint's new mixer was aimed directly at the three of them, since Steve was holding the out-of-control appliance as far away from his body as possible.

Loki immediately took this as a threat and—grabbing the biggest weapon currently available (Clint's iron skillet)—sprang forward with a savage battle cry. Steve dropped it in a flash, leaping out of the way with remarkable reflexes as Loki proceeded to beat the stuffing out of the mixer. Nat dove for the cord and unplugged the appliance from the electrical outlet (which had started sparking).

Even after the vile machine had ceased whirring, the demigod continued to demolish his perceived enemy. Only when it was lying on the floor in unrecognizable pieces did he step back, still holding the skillet in a defensive position.

Clint did nothing. He did not even move from his spot by the door. He just stared blankly at the mess-that-may-or-may-not-have-been-his-kitchen-at-one-point.

Steve looked close to tears. "I—I was trying to make fudge-mint brownies…. I wanted to surprise you."

Nat stepped over the remains of Clint's mixer to stand next to Steve. She patted him on the back. "Don't worry, Steve," she sighed. "I'm pretty sure he's surprised."

* * *

_I do so love making fun of men in the kitchen - even though I happen know quite a few men who can cook better than me! Clint Barton included, no doubt. He's quite the homemaker..._

_Please take a few seconds to leave a review; they encourage me. ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	27. Entry 27: The Calm Before the Storm

_Hello, all! My sincerest apologies for the lateness of this next entry. My life has gotten suddenly crazier, and I've been so distracted that I haven't had much time to think about fanfiction. Thank you for your continued support, despite my deficiencies. Hopefully you'll enjoy this preparatory entry, and the chaos that is sure to follow. ;)_

* * *

Entry #27: Manhattan [Or, "The Calm Before the Storm"]

Nat put Clint to bed early that night.

She made sure he had a glass of water, a calming book (she had shoved _Sense and Sensibility_ at him, much to his dismay), plenty of relaxing music to play on his bedside radio (music which included Soothing Jazz, Guitar Solos, and quite a few of her prized Opera CDs), and a nightlight (despite Clint weakly insisting that he was too old for that sort of thing). The last gift Nat bestowed upon a too-tired-to-argue demigod-sitter was a huge teddy bear she had thought to pick up at the mall for just such an occasion.

Once Clint was safely tucked away in his room, Natasha peeked in the door to the office. As she suspected, there sat Tony and Bruce, both engaged in a deep scientific debate about molecular structure.

"Ahem." Nat cleared her throat quietly. When neither of them glanced up, she rapped on the door. As one, they turned to face the Russian spy. Bruce smiled at her. Tony just looked peeved.

"What?"

"I was going to take a quick walk. Will you come out and check on Loki while I'm gone?"

Tony waved a hand carelessly. "I'll have Jarvis keep an eye on him. You'll do that, won't you, Jarv?"

Natasha jumped as the cool British tones of the AI system reverberated around the office: "With pleasure, Sir."

"What the—?"

Tony grinned up at Nat. "Bruce and I took a jaunt to the hardware store and installed a speaker system," he said proudly. "It only took us fifteen minutes. I'm pretty sure we broke some sort of record."

Bruce just shook his head at him, still smiling as he twirled a plastic stirring rod between his fingers. "There's a record for installing a speaker system?"

Natasha groaned and put a hand to her forehead. "Okay… whatever." Then an alarmed expression crossed her face. "Where's Thor?"

"Out in the garage," supplied Bruce. "Probably comparing his hammer to every tool Clint owns."

Nat decided that sounded pretty harmless. "Well, what about Cap?"

Tony snorted. "In the shower. But really, it's pointless. He could scrub for days and still not get all that flour out of his hair."

"Alright then." Natasha was about to turn around when she noticed something in Tony's hand. "Is that… a test tube?"

"Is what a test tube?" Tony asked innocently, whipping his hand behind his back.

Natasha gave the two men an admonishing glare. "Clint needs some chill time, OK? I don't want you blowing things up while I'm gone." she warned.

"What about when you get back?" asked Tony hopefully.

"No." And with that, Natasha left the boys to their debate and entered the kitchen. After swiping a bottled water off the counter, she went into the living room to make sure Loki was staying out of trouble.

The prisoner was sitting on his couch, surrounded by balloons. He had tied each one to the armrests and back, spacing them exactly four inches apart. When Nat walked in, he looked up with a glare. She glared back. "I'm going to leave for a while, but Jarvis will be watching you, so don't try anything rash."

Loki gave the SHIELD agent a skeptical look. "Jarvis?" he repeated, arching one eyebrow and letting the hint of a smirk cross his face.

"Jarvis," Natasha echoed, striding toward the door. "He's an invisible person who can outthink even your Asgardian brain. He can calculate the square root of 3,425.6 in a flash. He can tell you the precise odds of surviving a rhino attack in Tibet. And he can beat you at a game of chess—every single time. Don't make him mad." Giving the demigod a winning smile, Natasha waved and stepped out onto the front porch. "Do svidaniya!" she said cheerfully before shutting the door.

* * *

_Review for more..._

_~Alassiel_


	28. Entry 28: Loki Finds a Friend

_Another entry up - yay! Thanks so much for all of your wonderful reviews. I enjoy each one of them. :)_

_This chapter is mainly Loki fluff... But I hope __you'll enjoy it anyway! XD_

* * *

Entry #28: Manhattan [In Which Loki Finds a Friend]

Steve was in the shower.

Tony and Bruce were doing who-knows-what to Clint's office.

Clint himself was snoring away in his bedroom, hugging his teddy bear, with Natasha's opera CD playing quietly in the background.

Thor was out in the garage, also doing who-knows-what.

And the so-called "invisible man" Jarvis had not yet made his presence known.

…In other words, Loki pretty muchly had the entire house to himself.

Smirking, he leaned back on the couch, aware that he was surrounded by at least twenty balloons of all shapes and sizes, on most of which were written messages of affirmation: something he hadn't gotten a lot of back in Asgard. Well, if he couldn't be King of the World, he supposed he could settle for being King of the Couch. At least for the moment. The only down-side was that his entire wardrobe was squeezed under the couch cushions, and made sitting on said couch a rather lumpy, bumpy business.

At the moment, his mental to-do list looked something like this:

1 – Work on Escape Plan.

2 – Hide Clint's trilby hat under My Couch for later use.

3 – Find all Dr. Pepper bottles and destroy them, as this perverted drink is vile and not worthy of being ingested.

4 – Learn how to use the Coffee Maker, as this drink is far superior the cursed Dr. Pepper.

5 – Replace Toilet Plunger with Skillet as "Weapon of Choice."

6 – Investigate possible creative applications of the strange hair-drying devices (located in Clint's bathroom on the top shelf of the left cupboard).

7 – Find out exactly where Agent Romanoff gets that Raspberry body-lotion and acquire some for my own personal use.

8 – Send Thor back to Asgard… somehow.

9 – Send that silly hammer with back with him.

10 – IMPORTANT: avoid Dr. Banner at all costs.

Well, his Escape Plan was not coming along very quickly, so he decided to focus on number two… Where WAS Clint's trilby hat anyway?

Loki was about to get up and go look when something snagged his hair. The demigod froze, slowly turning his head and rolling his eyes around as far as they would. In between two balloon-strings, perched on the spine of His Couch, sat…

…the cat.

Loki gritted his teeth. That mangy, miserable, mischievous little feline had a pawful of his long black locks in her claws, and was voraciously chewing on the ends of his hair. Leaning away, he growled, "Leave me be."

Fluffy ignored him.

Put out, Loki reached back and grasped the cat with both hands, trying to lift her off of His Couch – but he quickly discovered that she was, in fact, _stuck_ to His Couch.

Disgusted, Loki leaned down and began to pluck each individual claw free of the material. As soon as Fluffy had one paw unhooked, she immediately put it to good use by scratching her benefactor on the nose.

With a sharp hiss, Loki jerked away, glaring at the cat.

The cat hissed back, and her already fluffy tail puffed up to an unbelievable size.

Although he was deeply offended, Loki resumed his ministrations after a momentary stare-down, this time keeping his face well clear of those sharp little claws. The instant Fluffy was detached from His Couch, she marched up Loki's arm and promptly sat down on his shoulder, curling her tail around his neck.

Loki brushed her off, annoyed.

Then she decided to take up residence on Loki's favorite cushion.

"Oh, no you don't," Loki mumbled, scooting her off His Couch and lying down on it himself. His long legs hung over the edge of the armrest, but he didn't care. That stupid cat would not steal his only Midgardian Possession.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the cat's little chirps and squeaks. However, he could no longer pretend she was not there when she jumped from the floor to the armrest and sauntered down his leg, traveling the length of his body until she eventually arrived at his chest. Then she began to biff at his face. Opening one eye, Loki glared up at Fluffy.

"Eeaaooww?" Fluffy asked, biffing him again.

"NO," Loki said firmly, picking her up again and returning her to the floor.

This happened three more times before Loki finally decided that something had to be done. The instant he sat up, Fluffy began to waltz toward the kitchen, trilling and purring and waving her tail around in the air.

For lack of anything better to do (besides steal Clint's trilby hat, which could be put on hold) Loki rose to his feet and slowly followed her into the kitchen.

Fluffy had stopped beside two little dishes that Loki had neglected to notice earlier. They were sitting out of the way, beside the back door.

Loki glanced around the kitchen, wondering what, exactly, the cat desired from him. A little bag was sitting a few feet away, and the front read: "FRISKIES Purina Cat Food, Indoor Delights."

Arching an eyebrow, Loki warily made a move toward the bag, suspecting that perhaps Clint had gone to bed before the little ingrate's customary mealtime.

She positively _assaulted_ him, rubbing his legs and squeaking so loudly that Loki's ears ached. Cringing, he stooped and opened the bag, quickly shoveling a handful of kernels into the bowl. Fluffy immediately pounced on the meal.

With a sigh, Loki sat down at the table and slumped in the chair, feeling oddly defeated. The day was more than half over, and although causing Clint several heart attacks on the way to the grocery store had been fun, the whole salon experience would probably scar him for life.

Now he was at a loss for something to do.

Perhaps he should go out to the garage and check on Thor before he took a leg off with one of Clint's power tools…

* * *

_I hope you liked Entry 28... Rest assured, Tony and Bruce WILL show up in the next chapter. ;)_

_Review for another update!_

_~Alassiel_


	29. Entry 29: JARVIS

_Where do I start? First of all, my HUMBLEST apologies for the delay - your reviews are inspiring, encouraging, and amusing, and I still love this fanfic, so no worries! But, alas, school has been... _

_(sigh)_

_...Well, I'm behind half a quarter's work. Enough said._

_Hopefully the length of this entry will make up (at least in part) for the long wait. As promised, Tony and Bruce feature heavily in this entry..._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Entry #29: Manhattan [or, "**J**ust **A** **R**ather **V**ery **I**ntelligent **S**ystem"]

"_Sir, did not Miss Romanoff advise you to keep explosions to a minimum of zero?"_

"Don't be a wet blanket, Jarvis. We're not actually going to cause a _real _explosion. We're just going to trigger a form of incomplete combustion using everyday, ordinary household items. This is our miniaturized thermal power plant. It won't come anywhere near to going over the legal emission standard for New York."

"_Very well, Sir. But remember, you are under strict orders not to wake the host."_

"Oh, Clint?" Tony gestured toward the door with a pair of tongs he had borrowed from the kitchen. "He's snoring like a freight train. We could probably blow up his entire office and he wouldn't hear a thing. He'll be fine."

"_I would also like to report that Loki is rifling through Clint's pantry. He has already confiscated two bottles of Dr. Pepper."_

"Eh, leave him alone. What could he possibly do with some Dr. Pepper?"

"_*Might I remind you of your last accident at Stark Tower, Sir? You managed to destroy an entire laboratory with only a package of M&M's—"_

Tony cleared his throat. "Jarvis…"

"_My apologies, Sir."_

* * *

Loki, having hidden the Dr. Pepper under His Couch for the time being, was now making tracks for the garage, rather reluctantly concerned for his brother-who-was-not-his-brother.

Before he could touch the handle of the door, however, a loud voice resonated throughout the room: _"I'm afraid you do not have access to that part of Clint's residence."_

Loki jumped, and then glanced around nervously, looking for the source of the voice. "Show yourself, fiend!" he demanded, sidling toward his skillet (which was tucked between the pillows of the couch).

Silence was his only answer. Skillet safely in hand, Loki skulked around the living room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The only thing he saw was that stupid cat sitting on a chair in one corner, preening itself.

The voice suddenly returned. _"I am JARVIS."_

Loki couldn't help jumping again. Then he remembered Natasha's vague ramblings about some invisible mortal who kept watch in Clint's house. Until now, he had considered it an idle threat.

By this time Loki was thoroughly annoyed and (had he been willing to admit this) a little afraid. "Do you mean to harm me?" He hefted his skillet and waited for a response.

"_I have been instructed to keep you out of trouble."_

Loki growled, annoyed with this vague reply. "By whom?"

"_Mister Stark."_

Still clutching the skillet, Loki warily advanced toward the door to the garage once again. Of course. The Man of Iron. Well, just let this "Jarvis" try to stop the great god of mischief from doing what he pleased! Thor had left the door unlocked when he had disappeared into the garage, so Loki knew he would have no difficulty in following him.

He gripped the handle firmly and tried to turn it, but before he could, there was a solid click and something jammed in the lock. _"I did warn you,"_ scolded Jarvis. _"You are not allowed in there."_

Loki wrenched the handle, but it simply wouldn't budge.

Irked, he mumbled, "You may tell Stark that his interference is not welcome."

"_I believe he is already aware of this. Telling him so will not grant you access to the garage."_

Loki glared at the door. Scuffling sounds and various clinks and clanks came from behind it, and he wondered exactly what was so fascinating as to keep his adoptive brother in Clint's garage for more than half an hour.

Then there was a muffled but extremely loud buzz, somewhat reminiscent of an electric drill, and Loki finally threw aside all façade of decorum. "THOR!" he shouted, yanking on the handle. "THOR! OPEN THIS DOOR IMMEDIATELY!"

The buzzing ceased, and loud footsteps clomped toward the door. Then Thor's booming voice reached Loki's ears. "IS THAT YOU, MY BROTHER?"

Loki gritted his teeth. "Thor, what are you doing?"

"INVESTIGATING THE MARVELS OF MIDGARD! YOU MUST SEE THIS MAGNIFICENT WEAPONS ARSENAL FOR YOURSELF, BROTHER! I AM PARTICULARILY FOND OF THE LITTLE REVOLVING SPEAR—ALTHOUGH IT IS FAR TOO SHORT FOR ME. IT MUST HAVE BEEN MADE FOR A DWARF."

Rolling his eyes, Loki tugged on the handle again. "Thor, could you just let me in?"

There was some rattling from the other side of the door, and then a short pause. "IT APPEARS THAT THIS DOOR IS LOCKED."

Loki glared at where he thought Thor's head might be on the other side of the door. "Yes, it is locked. That is why you must _un_-lock it so that I may come in and see the… marvels of Midgard."

There was more rattling and a disgruntled sigh from Thor. "I CANNOT UNLOCK THE DOOR."

"How did you unlock it when you got _into_ the garage?" Loki asked, irritated.

"LOKI, I ASSURE YOU, THIS DOOR IS QUITE IMMOBILE. HOWEVER, I COULD OPEN IT WITH THE HELP OF MJOLNIR!"

Loki's large green eyes widened at the suddenly gleeful tone in Thor's voice, and he took several hasty steps backwards. "No, no, I think that's a bit extreme…."

"A MERE DOOR SHALL NOT STAND BETWEEN US, BROTHER!"

"That's… er, very heroic of you, but please don't—"

"STAND BACK!"

* * *

Meanwhile in Clint's office, Tony had a small lump of something or other pinched between the tongs, and was slowly lifting it from one of Clint's prized teacups into what looked like a jar of seltzer water.

Bruce peered over his shoulder, looking slightly nervous. "Tony, I'm beginning to question the honesty of your words when you said you could handle this."

Tony sighed. "Dr. Banner, I know what I'm doing here."

"_I've heard that before, Sir."_

"Jarvis, please keep your two cents to yourself," mumbled Tony.

"_Yes, Sir. But Miss Romanoff—"_

"—is not here," Tony finished. "And what she doesn't know won't hurt her. You are sworn to silence concerning anything that happens in Clint's office. Repeat after me. 'I, Jarvis, do solemnly swear…'"

"Tony," Bruce interrupted, one hand cupped around the jar of seltzer-like substance. "Just hurry up."

"Right."

Tony dumped the little sphere into the liquid, screwed the lid on, and then stood back, watching it carefully. The only reaction seemed to be a strange blue fizz that bubbled up to the top of the jar and pressed ominously against the lid.

Tony looked unsurprised, but still slightly disappointed. "Well, according to my theory, there should be quite a bit of fizzing, but no bangs or booms. The real trick is finding out whether the combination actually created nitro—"

Before Tony could finish his sentence, there was a loud _pop,_ and the lid flew off the jar and smacked the ceiling. Foam poured rapidly onto the plate, and then spilled over onto Clint's desk. Blue smoke began rising from the bubbly mess.

Both men took a giant step back as the foam began to drip onto the carpeted floor.

"_Sir, Thor is about to demolish the door to the garage. I suggest immediate intervention." _

Tony either did not hear Jarvis's warning, or didn't really care at the moment. He stared, wide-eyed, at the frothing, smoking, bubbly goo, and then glanced back at the jar, which was… glowing?

Before Tony could open his mouth to say something to Bruce, there was an enormous BOOM, and the entire room was instantly covered in fizz and black smoke.

"Aaaaahhh!" Bruce and Tony both stumbled toward the door, fumbling for the handle. When they finally got it open, they collapsed in the hallway outside, blue bubbles clinging to their clothes and hair. Bruce was the first one up, and slammed the office door shut behind them.

A trickle of smoke leaked out from under the door, but the hissing sounds eventually died down.

Tony and Bruce just stood there for several seconds, both of them panting heavily, and one of them turning slightly green.

Then the door to Clint's bedroom creaked inward.

Glancing down the hallway, Tony froze for a moment, and then sidled up to the door to Clint's office, frantically brushing bubbles off of his T-shirt. "Act casual!" he hissed.

Within moments, Clint appeared, dressed in his rumpled pajamas and still holding his teddy bear. He blinked sleepily at the two of them, and then said slowly, "Did you hear something?"

Tony gave the teddy bear a dubious sideways glance, and then said, "I was chewing gum and blew a really big bubble, and it popped. Go back to bed: we've got it covered."

"Oh, okay." Clint's eyes had a very strange, glazed look to them, and Tony wondered for a moment whether he was really all there. "I have to put the kettle on, though… for tea…"

Widening his eyes, Tony cleared his throat and elbowed Bruce.

"That's okay, I'll do it," Bruce supplied, stepping forward and putting a hand on Clint's shoulder. "You need sleep. I mean_, really,_ you need to go back to bed."

"Haven't … completed my… mission yet…"

"Your mission?" asked Tony doubtfully.

Clint nodded, looking past Tony at the wall. "Must complete… the mission… find Loki… put an arrow… through his eye socket…."

"Your mission," Tony corrected, steering him toward his bedroom, "is to get some sleep."

Clint paused, as if thinking this over, and then yawned, letting the teddy bear dangle from one hand. "What would I do… without you… Nat?"

Tony made a horrified face and slowly backed away. "Probably die. Goodnight."

"G'night."

Clint stumbled back into his bedroom, and Tony shut the door after him.

Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets and blinked at Tony. "I'd say we lucked out. That man was sleepwalking, or I'm an accountant."

At that moment, Jarvis spoke again: _"Sir, your intervention is required in the garage as soon as possible."_

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a huge KA-BOOM that sounded something like thunder, and then a tremendous crash. "Oh no…"

* * *

_As always, review for an update! _

_This time I promise to respond within the week. ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	30. Entry 30: Chaos

_Hello, all! _

_Thank you so much for the welcome back. Here's to an early (but short) update... Enjoy!_

* * *

Entry #30: Manhattan [or, "Chaos"]

Suddenly Clint's bedroom door flew open again. This time he was not holding his teddy bear, and looked fully awake (if a little confused). Tony and Bruce both stepped back as he marched down the hallway in his purple pajamas, with a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, shouting rapid-fire questions in a deafeningly loud voice. "WHAT'S GOING ON IN MY HOUSE? WHERE'S LOKI? AND WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING OUT HERE?!" he demanded, pressing the edge of his black bow against Stark's arc reactor. "WHY DO I SMELL SMOKE? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY OFFICE? STEP ASIDE! NOW!"

Tony obeyed immediately (he knew better than to argue with that tone of voice) and Clint threw open the office door. Clouds of black smoke poured out into the hallway and Clint coughed, stumbling backwards. "What the heck did you do?! Set fire to my desk?"

"No," Tony corrected. "Our miniaturized thermal power plant malfunctioned."

At that moment, Natasha's ever-unruffled voice came from the general direction of the living room. "Boys!" There was a jingle, probably Nat dropping the keys on the kitchen counter on her way through. "I had hoped you would be good in my absence. But when I saw blue smoke coming from Clint's office window and heard a sonic boom in the garage on my way up the front walk, I began to lose confidence…"

"Noooo—_(cough-cough-AHEM-cough_)—really?" Tony drawled, leaning up against the wall and fanning smoke away from his face as Natasha appeared in the hallway.

Bruce looked incredibly sheepish. "It was my fault," he admitted. "I shouldn't have let Tony anywhere near a test tube. Or Clint's teacups."

Natasha stopped and stared at the open office door for a moment, and then turned her gaze to Clint standing there in his purple PJs, holding his bow like it was a club. "Um… wow," she remarked, poking her head around the doorframe. "But seriously, that's nothing compared to what Thor did in the garage."

Clint freaked. "MY SPORTS CAR!" he shouted, sprinting down the hallway in his bare feet. Natasha stared after him for a moment, and then turned her full attention on Bruce and Tony. "What did I tell you before I left," she growled, putting her hands on her hips.

Tony shuffled his feet on the floor, and then looked up at the ceiling. "Um… oh, yeah! You told us that we should explode something, because that would be cool."

Natasha shifted her classic Someone-is-Goin'-Down glare to Bruce. "Dr. Banner?"

"No explosions," he replied with a sigh, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"That's right. And what did you do while I was gone?"

Tony made a face. Bruce answered for him. "We exploded something. But we're sorry."

"How sorry?"

"Sorry enough to clean up Clint's office," said Bruce. "By ourselves."

"WHAT?! … That's not fair!"

Bruce patted Tony on the back, shaking his head.

* * *

By this time Clint had reached the garage, and was standing in the hallway with a horrified look plastered across his face: indeed, the garage door—and part of the wall—had been completely demolished. Thor had planted both feet in the middle of the ruin, holding his hammer aloft and looking rather proud of himself, and Loki was standing awkwardly off to one side, glancing nervously at Clint.

Finally, the god of mischief spread his hands out in a pacifying gesture and said quietly, "I didn't do it."

Before Clint could murder anyone, however, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" offered Natasha from the back hallway, but Clint aimed one final glare at Loki and began to march toward the front door, his bow slung over one shoulder and the arrow tucked into the pocket of his purple pajama shirt.

When he reached the door, he set about unlocking it (a monstrous task, as always), and then flung it open, still wearing his most menacing glare.

The look froze on his face for a moment, and then melted into something more like horror: Nick Fury was standing on Clint's front doorstep. The Director of SHIELD stared for several seconds at the marksman's strange attire, and then ventured, "Clint?"

"He's not here!" Clint deadpanned, and then slammed the door in the Director's face. Then he slumped against the wall, ignoring the insistent knocking of one very irked Nick Fury.

Natasha sauntered into the front room, her brow furrowed. "Was that Fury's voice I heard?"

Clint didn't bother to look up as she walked in. "No… just some random salesperson…"

Nat put her hands on her hips. "What were they selling?"

"Heart attacks," mumbled Clint, stumbling over to the chair in the corner and collapsing.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha opened the door and blinked. "Director Fury?"

Tony Stark sauntered around the corner with his hands in his pockets, did a double-take, and promptly disappeared again, shouting, "Hide the contraband! Our parole officer just showed up!"

Nick raised an eyebrow. "I just came over to check up on things."

"They could be better," Natasha informed him dryly.

Nick stepped inside, taking in the clothes stuffed under the couch cushions, the twenty balloons that had overrun the living room, one bedraggled-looking Clint glaring wryly at him from his chair, and the blue smoke that was slowly trickling down the hallway.

"So I see..."

* * *

_Alright, now for an update on the status of this fanfiction: _

_This may be my last official entry, depending on how many people wish me to continue. If it's an overwhelming majority and nobody seems to be getting tired of this story, I shall either begin anew with a sequel or continue to add on to this particular fanfiction._

_Please review and give me any comments/suggestions you may have!_

_~Alassiel_


	31. Entry 31: The Great Avengers Expedition

_Greetings, all! _

_The response I received to the last entry was overwhelming, but I wasn't sure if I could keep going with this little story at the same pace, so I took a break from fanfiction. Now I'm returning to our troupe of heroes, and I hope you will continue to enjoy and review their misadventures! __I can't guarantee instant updates this time around, especially with the closing of the semester and a busy summer ahead..._

_Nevertheless, I do hope these new entries bring a smile to your day!_

_Much love,_

_Alassiel_

* * *

Entry #31: Manhattan [or, "How the Great Avengers Expedition Came About"]

Clint's office window had been opened to let out the smoke (and the door to the hallway had been tightly shut).

Thor, Nat, and Tony had managed to clear away the rubble where the garage door used to be.

Steve had appeared about five minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist, soaking wet hair, and a look of complete and utter bewilderment on his face. The rest of the Avengers had irritably explained what had happened, and he had gone back to the bathroom to get dressed and help them clean up.

Once everything that needed immediate attention had been dealt with, the Avengers assembled in the living room: Loki on the couch, Thor standing next to him, Clint still in his chair (and still wearing his purple pajamas), Natasha sitting on the armrest of Clint's chair, Dr. Banner leaning up against the wall, Director Fury standing in the middle of the room, and Steve sitting awkwardly on the floor in one corner, as there were no other seats available.

Before Fury could open his mouth, Clint growled, "Fury, I hope you know that you have successfully ruined my life, and also that you had better be paying for all the home repair on my to-do list…"

Fury cleared his throat. "Yes, Clint, SHIELD will pay for everything and fix all… damages done to your house."

"And the appliances," added Clint. "Don't forget the appliances."

"Yes, of course. But that aside, and having taken note of the wear and tear done to Clint's personal home despite SHIELD's efforts to improve the security—"

"My personal home did not need improved security," Clint cut in. "It needed improved _company._"

Cap immediately blushed, and Tony and Bruce both fidgeted, but Thor's beaming smile never faltered.

Fury cleared his throat again. "Moving on then. All things considered, I believe a vacation is in order."

Clint immediately released a grateful sigh. Standing up, he reached out to shake Nick's hand. "About time," he groaned. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Director Fury… I only hope that Loco's new jail warden knows what he's getting himself into, 'cause boy, you sure blindsided ME." He laughed shakily.

Director Fury did not accept Clint's hand. Instead, he clarified, "That's not the kind of vacation I meant."

Clint pulled away, paling. "What kind of vacation did you mean?"

"It's more like a mission," Fury informed him. "A survival mission. Obviously sending Loki to your house was a bad idea—"

"You just realized that?"

"—so as Head of SHIELD, I have made an executive decision to relocate the team."

Natasha raised a hand. "Relocate?"

"Well, something like that. It's obviously too dangerous to try containing Loki here in suburbia, so you are all going to be spending some quality time out in the middle of nowhere. Think Timbuktu."

Clint sat back down and put his head in his hands. "So you _aren't_ sending Loki away?" he surmised, his voice a little strained.

"I am. I'm just sending you with him. This way, not only will Loki be unable to destroy your house, but SHIELD will have the unique opportunity to use some new satellite tracking equipment. I'm sure Stark knows what I'm talking about. Loki won't be able to make one single move without the top agents at SHIELD headquarters knowing about it. It'll be like having him in a virtual cage."

"I am not a beast!" Loki interjected, looking rather haughty.

Everyone except Thor gave him incredulous stares, wondering exactly how he could say that with a clean conscience.

Fury resumed his instruction. "You have until tomorrow to pack anything you might need. I'll send Coulson with the van. From here, you will be driven to the airport, and once you reach your destination, a van will be rented for your personal use. Unfortunately, you'll have to hike the last ten miles, and then set up tents once you've reached the campsite. Only take what you think you can carry."

"Put up tents?" Stark repeated, wide-eyed. Up until that point in the conversation, he had been texting Pepper on his cell phone, but now Fury had his full attention. "You mean, like, _tent_-tents? But that's uncivilized!"

Fury hid a smirk. "Oh, I thought I'd try to make this as fun as possible for you all. Like a real vacation."

Dr. Banner was smiling. "I'll make trail mix," he offered immediately. "And help everybody pack up."

Clint looked like he was on the verge of having a stroke. Natasha was patting him on the back. "We'll have fun! Won't we Clint? I know how you like roughing it."

"Not with HIM!" Clint was quick to point out, glaring across the room at Loki.

Loki grinned back, displaying most of his perfectly straight, white teeth. Being trapped in Clint's house had been a complete drag, but he decided that he might like 'camping' better. Oh yes, this _would_ be fun. This would be very, very fun…

* * *

_As always: review for an update! ;)_

_~Alassiel_


	32. Entry 32: Are We There Yet?

_Thank you all so, so much for those wonderful reviews! _

_To say I was shellshocked would be an understatement._

_I can't believe I'm uploading another chapter this early, but you deserve it. ;) __I do have to warn you, this chapter is rather short. __It's a bit of a teaser for the rest of this little expedition... But I couldn't resist - I dare to guess I'm not the only one who has been in closer-than-comfortable quarters on a family road trip._

* * *

Entry #32: Camping Trip [or, "Are We There Yet?"]

Clint and Natasha were sitting up front.

Steve, Tony, and Thor were smashed in the middle seat.

And in the back sat Loki and Bruce; Clint had arranged the seating in a way that he thought would be least stressful. Well, for everyone but Loki. Putting him in the back with Dr. Banner seemed to have a very nice, silencing effect on the usually cheeky demigod.

"Tony, your elbow is poking me in the ribs," complained Steve.

"Well then scoot over!"

"I AM scooted over! If the window was open I'd have fallen out by now!"

"Hey, Nat? Can you roll down Steve's window? I need more elbow room."

"That's mean!"

"Don't be so sensitive. It was a joke."

"It didn't _sound _like a joke…"

"Did you pack any snacks?" inquired Thor. "I'm hungry."

Tony glared at him. "We did, but you devoured them all before we had even pulled out of the parking lot."

"I did not!"

Steve sighed. "Can we just stop arguing?"

"Lighten up," snapped Tony.

"Are we there yet?" Thor asked loudly.

Natasha decided that this would be a good moment to intervene, and suggested cheerfully, turning around in the driver's seat to glance back at her little troop of boys, "Shall we sing a campfire song?"

Tony groaned, burying his head in his hands. "NO! Let's just turn on the radio or something. Find a good rap station."

"The radio doesn't really work up here," Nat reminded him. "I vote for a campfire song."

"But—"

Natasha interrupted him by shouting out, "The other day, I met a bear, with tennis shoes, a dandy pair! The other daaaay IIIII meeet aaaa beeeeeaaaarrr… with tennis shoes aaaa daaandeeee paaaairr!"

Clint took up the repeat, and the two assassins practically rocked the van with their singing.

"He looked at me!"

_("He looked at me!")_

"I looked at him!"

_("I looked at him!")_

"He sized me up!"

_("He sized me up!")_

"I sized up him!"

_("I sized up him!")_

Natasha glanced back at the boys again. "C'mon, all together now!"

Steve started singing along immediately, delighted at this pleasant, quirky diversion, and eventually Bruce's gentle tenor could be heard as well: "He said to me, 'Why don't you run? I see you don't have any gun!' So I did run away from there, and right behind me came that bear!"

Tony put his fingers in his ears and shrank down in his seat as Thor caught on and began belting out the lyrics. The demigod couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but he made up for it in volume.

"Oh, Tony, don't be a spoilsport!" chided Natasha. "SING!"

Tony did not sing. He just sat there and wondered why the windows hadn't started breaking yet.

"Ahead of meeeee

I saw a treeee!

A great big treeee!

Oh golly-geeeee…"

* * *

_Is it just me, or is that not the most catchy, horribly annoying ditty on the face of this good earth? _

_~Alassiel_


	33. Entry 33: The Hike of Death

_Another entry - in which the men will be separated from the boys!_

_Hope it makes you giggle. :)_

* * *

Entry #33: Camping Trip [or, "The Hike of Death"]

When the Avengers arrived at the end of the bumpy, dusty road, and Natasha had parked the car, they all sat there for a moment, wondering at the silence. There was no traffic. No busy streets. No stoplights or neon signs. Just a few birds chirping in the distance.

"Well, then," Natasha finally unbuckled her seatbelt and hopped out of the driver's side, slamming the door. "Let's start unpacking, shall we?"

Thor, Tony, Steve, and Clint all piled out of the van.

"What, so are we just gonna set up camp here?" Tony asked hopefully.

"No. We have to hike to our campsite, remember?" Natasha reminded him, heading around to the back of the van and opening the hatch. She found herself face-to-face with Loki, who had turned around in the backseat and was glaring silently at her. "What are you waiting for?" she scolded him. "Get out and help us carry this stuff!"

Once Loki had slid out of the van, Natasha began handing out backpacks and water bottles, barking orders like a drill sergeant. "Alright! Steve, I'm sorry, but you and Thor get to carry the tents, plus your sleeping bags and backpacks. Everybody else will carry their own stuff. Got it? No, no, that's mine. Yeah, that one. Steve? Steve, come back here! We're not leaving yet!"

Loki was standing off to one side, watching the entire spectacle and looking somewhat amused until Natasha threw a backpack and a rolled-up sleeping bag at him. "Catch!" she shouted.

Loki didn't move. They fell to the dirt several feet away. He raised an eyebrow at her, but the SHIELD agent was obviously not in the mood for games. "Pick 'em up and start walking!" demanded Nat, shouldering her own backpack, and beginning to ascend the tiny little dirt trail that lay before them.

Steve went ahead of her, loaded down like a pack mule but cheerfully whistling "The Stars and Stripes Forever" as he marched up the pathway.

Loki tentatively picked up the backpack by one strap and held it out in front of him, examining it as if it were something toxic, or perhaps simply a mortal object unworthy of being touched by His Majesty.

Tony brought up the rear, carrying his backpack, his sleeping bag, and several additional suitcases that looked rather heavy. "Hurry up Reindeer Games…" he panted, striding up the trail. "Or do you feel like eating my dust?"

Loki glared over his shoulder at the narcissistic Avenger, and increased his pace.

They were only ten minutes into the hike when Tony asked for a breather.

"What on earth did you bring all those extra bags for, Tony?" asked Natasha as she unscrewed the lid on her water bottle. She took a long drink and then continued, "This is a camping trip. We're roughing it."

"Not me," wheezed Tony, setting the suitcases down with a thump and wiping sweat from his forehead.

"What exactly did you bring?" Clint inquired, raising his eyebrows at the heavy load Tony had decided to lug all the way to the campsite.

"A battery operated radio/JARVIS/alarm-clock, a memory foam mattress pillow, Mark VII, three rechargeable lamps, two flashlights, my electric toothbrush, two bottles of cologne, a comb, my modified earpiece communicator set, some other appliances I can't actually live without, eight packages of M&M's, two bags of Doritos, and some metal rods for roasting marshmallows. I refuse to use _sticks_. That's unhygienic!"

Clint's eyebrows went up a little higher. "Wow… but I don't think you'll be able to use your electric toothbrush. You can't just plug it into a tree to recharge it, you know."

"Alright, time to go," barked Natasha, shouldering her backpack again and continuing the trek.

Tony heaved a sigh, gathering up all of his equipment, and continued to trot along at the back of the pack.

A little over an hour later, they had reached the campsite.

It was excellent timing, because Tony looked about ready to pass out. He simply dropped his suitcases, let the load slide off his back, and collapsed on the grass with a muffled grunt.

Clint and Natasha looked ready to hike another ten miles, but they happily put down their backpacks and sat down to take another drink.

Thor and Steve put the tents in the middle of the campsite. Steve grinned, holding up one of the rolled-up tents and several of the poles. "This'll be fun! I can put up a tent with my eyes closed."

"Things may have changed slightly since the last time you went camping," Nat reminded him, but Steve shrugged off her gentle warning and went about his business.

Clint slapped his arm and made a face. "Uh, Nat? You bring any mosquito repellant?"

Natasha immediately reached into her backpack and whipped out a bottle, tossing it to Clint. He thanked her and immediately stood up and began spraying himself.

Loki was standing off to one side next to his abandoned backpack and sleeping bag, irritably brushing insects away from his face and bared arms. For some reason, they seemed to like him better than anyone else. Thor appeared to be having the same problem.

"Maybe Asgardian blood tastes better!" Clint suggested cheerfully.

Loki appeared horrified. "These creatures… they drink one's blood?!"

"Of course! Don't you have mosquitoes in Asgard?" asked Clint.

"We most certainly do not!" Loki asserted, swiping one of the foul little beasts away from his face.

Right about then Steve called out, "Since when do tents have an entryway?!"

Tony got up and meandered over to the supersoldier. "Didn't they always? Here, let me help you with that," he offered, taking a stray tent pole from Steve and getting down on his knees.

Steve stared at Tony. "But you didn't read the instructions."

Tony snorted. "Who needs instructions? I can assemble this tent better than the manufacturers ever could."

True to his word, Tony worked together with Steve, and they managed to put up all the tents in less than half an hour.

"Bravo, boys," Natasha commented as she walked past. "Alright. I'm going to start the fire. Who wants hot dogs for dinner? I brought—"

"Wait, wait!" Tony quickly got to his feet and hurried over. "Can I light the fire?"

Natasha glared at him for a moment. "Not after that incident in Clint's office, you can't. I wouldn't trust you within fifty feet of a match, let alone a lighter."

Tony looked so let down that Natasha finally relented. Miraculously, he did not explode anything, and managed to get the fire started in under thirty seconds - which was amazing, considering the fact that he'd only used a traditional lighter once or twice in his life. Natasha admitted that she was impressed, and Tony looked rather smug.

"As I was saying… who wants hot dogs?"

A chorus of "ME"s rang out in the clearing. Loki just glanced at Natasha with a slightly disturbed expression on his face. "Why would I want a dog?"

"A _hot dog_," Clint tried to clarify, smirking. "You know, something you eat?"

"It's not an actual dog," Natasha hurried to add. "It's… I don't actually know why it's called that, but they're very good. Would you like one?"

Disgusted that he was once again being forced to accept pathetic mortal culinary endeavors, Loki nodded anyway, hoping these "hot dogs" would be better than Stark's deep-fried hamburgers, and then retreated to a far corner of the clearing. He had tried to tuck his shirt into his jeans, but everything was a bit too big for the demigod, including the hiking boots Bruce had lent him; he now had blisters on both feet, which only further soured his outlook on life…

* * *

_Thanks so much for all the support you've given me these last few days! _

_You're the best..._

_~Alassiel_


	34. Entry 34: In Which JARVIS is Demoted

_Originally, these were two entries set to go back-to-back, but I combined them into one longer entry for the sake of convenience. ;)_

_Enjoy it!_

* * *

Entry #34: In Which JARVIS Is Demoted

The Avengers were gone.

Loki had gone with them.

The SHIELD agents and work crew had finished repairing Clint's house.

Phil Coulson had attempted to explain the smoke and alarming noises from the night before to the neighbors: Clint had gone on vacation (this was partially true—he was certainly on vacation _now_) and some hoboes had decided to have a party in his unlocked house (this also contained inklings of the truth, although whether two mad scientists and two equally crazy demigods could reasonably be considered "hoboes" was debatable—Thor and Loki were certainly misplaced and might have been termed 'homeless,' but Stark was another story altogether). Why the door had been unlocked and why a gang of hoboes had been wandering around that part of Manhattan went unexplained, but Coulson could be extremely persuasive with very few words, and none of the neighbors asked any more questions about the matter.

However, there was one other resident of Clint's house who had hidden under the bed until the SHIELD agents left, and was now prowling around the kitchen, waiting hopefully for someone to give her dinner.

It was not any of the agents or construction crew who discovered the little creature wandering around the newly repaired house.

It was, in fact, the unfazeable Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.

Nick Fury had arrived late that night to check up on things, i.e. make sure the construction crew had done more good than harm. When he opened the door, he was greeted with wild enthusiasm by none other than Fluffy, who was convinced that she was about to undergo death-by-starvation.

"_Welcome to the Barton residence, Sir."_

Director Fury rolled his eye and tried to peel Fluffy off his leg. He'd heard the whole story from Coulson: apparently Mr. Stark had installed Jarvis at some point during his visit. Phil had gotten complaints from the workmen that they were being harassed by an uncannily observant security system. The SHIELD agent had put two and two together, and realized that Stark's sassy British AI unit, J.A.R.V.I.S., must have been eavesdropping on the workers somehow.

"Jarvis," Nick said dryly. "What are you doing here?"

"_Minding my own business, Sir. As usual."_

Nick finally managed to detatch Fluffy from his pant leg, and inquired, "_What_… is this _thing_?"

"_It is a feline, Sir, of the Persian variety. 'Fluffy,' if my memory database is accurate. And it always is."_

"Fluffy," scoffed Nick, glancing around the room. Aha! There was the camera up in the corner. …And the speakers. "I didn't know Clint had a cat," he grumbled.

"_He does, Sir,"_ Jarvis reaffirmed. _"You may also be interested in knowing that it is exactly three hours after six—and she has not had anything to eat since early this morning."_

Fluffy backed up this statement with a yowl.

Nick sighed. He was allergic to cats. "Didn't Clint leave any instructions?" he asked.

"_None, Sir. I doubt he even remembered to pack his toothbrush."_

* * *

Two hours later, Fluffy had been fed, and Nick Fury had managed to improvise a cat food dispenser. He had also put together a makeshift "automatic door" (at least, that's what he called it. It looked more like a modified set decoration from the first Star Wars trilogy). He prided himself on being able to work with just about anything—not that he would brag about it, of course—and he had made use of the odds and ends in Clint's garage and leftover electrical wiring from the recent repairs.

Jarvis hadn't made the job much easier. He had decided to annoy Fury by spouting off random facts about cats, such as _"The house cat is the only feline that can walk while holding its tail vertically"_ or _"Sir, did you know that the Kodkod cat is on the verge of extinction?" _or even _"You may not be aware that the average feline ingests approximately 0.1 milliliter of fluid with every lap." _

After what seemed to Nick Fury like an eternity, he had finished the task at hand.

"Your most important job," he informed Jarvis, "is now to feed the cat at the appropriate hours, and open and close the door when it desires access to the great outdoors."

"_Only Stark is qualified to give me orders," _Jarvis retorted, sounding unusually snide for an Artificial Intelligence system.

Nick glared up at the kitchen camera. "Do you see Stark in this house anywhere?"

* * *

Tony Stark was sitting in the folding chair that Natasha had thoughtfully brought along, spraying himself with copious amounts of insect repellent and wondering why he had even allowed Nick Fury to give him orders.

"'Go camping!' he said. 'It will be fun!' he said. Hah! This is about as fun as a spending another week in Gulmira…."

Steve marched past two seconds later, carrying three fishing poles and a sleeping bag. "Aw, cheer up, Mister Stark. Tomorrow, I'll show you how to catch a fish!"

"I'd rather catch a plane back to Manhattan," groused Tony.

At that moment, Tony's cell phone started ringing. He mumbled something that was probably profane and set down the bottle of insect repellent, digging his cell out of his jacket pocket. When he flipped it open and held it up to his ear, not bothering to check the caller ID, he said grumpily, "Who is this and what do you want from me? But whatever it is, my answer is 'NO.'"

"_Sir, please inform Director Fury that my services are not at his disposal."  
_

"Jarvis?"

"_Yes, Sir."_

Tony sighed with relief and leaned back in the chair. "Jarvis! About time you called. Is there any way you can hook up all available satellite channels to my portable battery-operated mini-TV?"

"_Right away, Sir. But Director Fury is here, and he is trying to turn me into a cat-sitter."_

Reclaiming the insect repellent, Tony sprayed more on his legs, which looked rather pale, sticking out from his khaki shorts. He usually wore jeans. Or his Iron Man suit. "So? You could use a little diversion. It'll be good for you."

"_But Sir—"_

"Later, Jarv." Tony slid his cell phone shut and shoved it back in his pocket.

* * *

The last thing Jarvis said to Nick Fury was, _"I seem to have been demoted."_

* * *

It was already getting dark out, and the whole gang had gathered around the campfire, armed to the teeth with hot dogs, ketchup, mustard, and bottled water. Except for Stark, who had brought along a case of Dr. Pepper, (and also the makings for an early-morning coffee).

Loki was sitting off to one side, looking miserable and clutching a spray bottle of mosquito repellent. He doused himself with it at least once every sixty seconds. Thor had his own bottle as well, and Natasha felt some pangs of sympathy for the demigods. Which is why, sometime before they had all congregated around the campfire, she managed to sneak an extra Hershey's bar to each of them. Loki hadn't touched his, but Thor had declared chocolate to be even better than a poptart.

Steve eagerly peeled some green branches, sharpening the ends, and immediately stabbed his into one of the largest hot dogs. Everybody else followed suit, holding their food near the hot coals at the bottom. Stark was again the exception. Instead of roasting his hot dog in the coals, he plunged his into the hottest flames, and then pulled it out on fire and smoking. The rest of the Avengers—plus Loki—stared at him in amazement as he waved it around in the air to cool it off, and then plopped it into a hot dog bun. Ashes dusted the ground. "What?" he asked innocently, smiling as he reached for the mustard.

Steve just shook his head and removed his lightly toasted hot dog from the coals. "Am I really sleeping in the same tent with this guy?" he muttered, reaching out to take the bun Natasha had offered him.

"Hey," Tony said through a mouthful of burnt hot dog. "I didn't choose the tents, okay? That was Nat's job."

Steve gave Natasha Romanoff a pleading look. "I request a transfer."

She smiled. "Sorry. Too late for that."

"S'mores!" demanded Tony, reaching for the entire bag of marshmallows. Natasha slapped his hand away, and he gave her a hurt look. "What?"

"You may have two s'mores. We have to ration these out."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Please! How long do they have to last?"

"How many more nights do you want to have desert after dinner?" retorted Nat.

"But we're not staying here _that_ long are we?"

"Fury sure made it sound that way. Two marshmallows each," Natasha repeated, handing Stark his 'rations' for the evening.

He took them gingerly between his thumb and forefinger and examined them in the firelight. "These are tiny," he stated bluntly, before spearing them with his metal poker.

"Deal with it." Natasha put two marshmallows on her own stick and held it out toward the fire. They immediately began to swell up and turn brown.

"So these are the 's'mores' you mentioned in the store, Agent Romanoff." Loki's suave voice startled everyone, and all the Avengers turned to stare at him. He stared back from his shadowy perch outside the circle of firelight, his green eyes luminous in the dark. "I should like to try one," he confessed, moving a little closer.

Clint eyed him warily, but Natasha kindly offered him a stick and held out the open bag of marshmallows. "When you're done roasting those, you can get some graham crackers out of the box over here, and some Hershey's bars. It's like a sandwich," she explained.

"Only a lot better," added Tony, pulling his charred, crumbling marshmallows out of the fire and blowing on them.

Natasha gave him a concerned sideways glance.

* * *

_Thanks for bearing with me - __R&R!_

_~Alassiel_


	35. Entry 35: Attack of the Killer Arachnid

_I confess, Entry #35 may have been slightly influenced by my own (rather severe) case of arachnophobia..._

* * *

Entry #35: Camping Trip [or, "Attack of the Killer Arachnid"]

After about an hour of awkward silence, Clint finally got up to put out the fire, and Tony and Steve began to walk toward their tent. Natasha had a tent all to herself, and so did Thor. Loki claimed that he snored so loudly it shook the walls of the palace, and nobody wanted to take a chance on the smaller demigod's propensity to tell tall tales.

Loki, Clint, and Bruce were all crammed into one tent, much to the discomfiture of both Loki AND Clint. Bruce couldn't have seemed happier, however, and calmly rolled out his sleeping bag. "I'm going to bed now," he declared, "because I have plans to get up early tomorrow and go fishing. Have you ever had fresh fish for breakfast?"

Clint laughed, buttoning up the shirt of his purple pajamas. "No, actually, but I wouldn't mind trying some."

"Then prepare yourself for Fried Fish Soufflé, a la the world's greatest cook, Dr. Bruce Banner."

"Really? You're the world's greatest?"

"Well, I'm a better cook than Steve."

"That's not saying much," Clint accused, wriggling into his sleeping bag and pulling the half-finished mystery novel he had thought to bring along out from under his pillow. Loki just stared at the two of them from his corner of the tent, fiddling with a loose thread on his ten-percent-off plaid pajamas.

"True enough, but I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. Goodnight." And with that, Dr. Banner rolled over to block out the lamplight and immediately went right to sleep.

Clint and Loki both stared at him for a moment.

"Well," Clint finally whispered, "I guess being forced to practice all those relaxation techniques finally paid off…"

* * *

Tony tried in vain to text Pepper while Steve amused himself by making shadow puppets and fiddling with the rechargeable lantern. After several minutes, Tony irritably tossed his cell phone aside. "You'd think," he grumbled, "that if SHIELD can track Loki with a satellite, I could at _least_ get some decent reception up here!"

"Mm-hm." Steve had gone back to making shadow puppets on the wall, and was now attempting to act out the entire battle with the Chitauri. The flying, serpentine aliens, however, required the use of his entire arm.

Tony had finally unzipped his sleeping bag and was just about to crawl in when he suddenly froze, staring at intently at a spot on the wall. Then he recoiled, scrambling backwards and reaching behind him for the door. Unfortunately, it had been zipped closed. "OHMYGOSH! _Spider-spider-spider!_ Kill it! Kill it!"

Steve quickly vacated his sleeping bag and hurried over to the hysterical Tony. "Mister Stark! Calm yourself! The first rule when dealing with an emergency situation is not to lose your composure."

Tony huddled against the tent, teeth chattering. "Right. Don't lose your cool. Just keep calm. Breathe. Don't freak—LOOK! THERE IT IS! IT'S CLIMBING UP THE WALL!" Still babbling hysterically, Tony grabbed Steve by the shoulders and began shaking him.

Steve wheezed, "Alright, alright! The important thing here is not to panic!"

Tony slowly released Steve, and then nodded, his eyes steadily widening as he watched the eight-legged menace scale the tent.

"Now, we need a plan—" Steve began in his most polished 'Captain America' voice, but Tony interrupted him.

"The plan," he said through clenched teeth, "is that you _murder_ it."

Steve sighed. "Okay. I'll take care of it, but I'm gonna need a little help."

Tony briefly took his eyes off the spider to glance nervously at Steve. "Help?"

"I need you," Steve instructed, "to hold that lamp up so I can see what I'm doing… and I'll destroy the enemy with my shoe."

Still emitting various noises of disgust, the genius slowly reached out toward the rechargeable lamp. Once his fingers had grasped the handle, he quickly resumed his crouch by the still-zipped door.

"Okay," Steve whispered. "Hold it up real high for me, and hope that this thing isn't a jumping spider…"

Tony made a face. "Jumping spider?"

"Don't worry. It's probably not," Steve reassured him, grabbing one of his hiking boots and slowly advancing. "Awfully big, though."

"Just kill it!" hissed Tony from his position by the door.

Steve moved in until he was less than a foot away. "Nah, that's not a jumping spider." Then he whacked the wall with his shoe. The whole tent wobbled.

There was a moment of silence as Steve examined the bottom of his hiking boot, and then glanced around the tent. His wandering gaze paused at a spot about two inches away from Tony's bare feet. "Holy mackerel! It _was _a jumping spider!"

Pandemonium ensued.

Stark let out a yell that probably woke every living creature within a fifty-mile radius, and then tried to smash it with the lantern. The light-bulb suddenly flickered out, and the entire tent was plunged into darkness. Tony attempted to make a swift exit, but couldn't find the tent zipper in the dark. "Get me outta here!"

"Mister Stark! Remember the first rule of—"

"Just shut up and find that spider!"

"Calm down."

"Not until that thing is—what the—ohmygosh I think it's on my leg! Kill it! Shoot it! Somebody get me a flame thrower!"

In the midst of his impromptu hokey-pokey, Tony somehow managed to upset the entire tent, which, instead of merely collapsing, began to roll sideways.

"NO! Dr. Banner's tent is over there!" warned Steve in a stage-whisper. "Just sit still!"

There was a moment of silence as the two superheroes tried to prevent the tent from rolling any further.

"Good… now… crawl the other way!"

Between their combined efforts and Steve's thoughtful instructions, they somehow managed to get the tent upright again. After feeling around in the dark for several moments, Steve discovered the lamp that Tony had tried to use as a club. Miraculously, it still worked, and when he flipped on the switch, they found their tent to be in complete disarray.

"Did we kill the spider?" Tony panted, glancing anxiously around the tent. There was a moment of silence as they both searched their sleeping bags and examined the walls.

"Well… if it isn't dead by now, it deserves to live," Steve admitted ruefully.

* * *

_Oh, the horror of camping out in the great wide open spaces... __I doubt Tony would survive a night in my backyard. _

_Review for an update!_

_~Alassiel_


	36. Entry 36: Camping Trip

_Thank you, everybody, for your patience! I am finally out of school for the summer, and this afternoon I finished signing up for next year's classes. Hooray!_

_So sorry for the lateness of these next entries - but you do get two for the price of one. ;)_

_I hope they make you smile!_

* * *

Entry #36: Camping Trip

Clint was the first one to regain full consciousness, naturally. He could hear the birds chirping outside the tent, and – reaching up – pulled back the little flap that revealed their "skylight." It was still somewhat dark out, but Clint could already tell it was a wonderful, crisp, clear morning that promised to be absolutely gorgeous.

The assassin glanced over at his two snoring companions and cautiously poked Dr. Banner in the shoulder. The scientist groaned and rolled over, snuggling into his pillow and mumbling something about atomic diffusion.

"Hey! I thought you were going fishing!" Clint hissed.

There was no response from Bruce, so Clint quickly got dressed in something warmer, grabbed his bow and quiver (which he took with him absolutely everywhere) and headed toward the tent flap. Once outside, he smiled, taking a deep breath of that clean, mountain air. Aaaaahhhhh… Relaxation. That's what life was all about, right? He had been tragically deprived of some much-needed R&R last weekend, but now he could make up for lost time.

After starting a fire – it was a little chilly out in the early morning hours – Clint glanced over his shoulder to see if anybody else looked like they were awake. All of the tents were still dark.

…and then he noticed that Steve and Tony's tent was nowhere to be seen.

He blinked.

Was that possible? It had been there just last night.

Immediately suspicious of foul play, as any good assassin would be, Clint reached over his shoulder for an arrow and began slinking around the campsite, determined to find their tent.

Finally, he spotted a wilting little mound at the very far edge of the clearing. Was that it? Yes, that was definitely a tent. But it was… sideways. And sort of lumpy. And looked like it had a large tear in one corner.

Sprinting over, Clint tried to find the tent flap, but it was trapped underneath the sleeping bags and all of Stark's camping paraphernalia that he knew must still be inside. "TONY! STEVE!" He shouted. "GUYS, ARE YOU IN THERE?!"

There was a muffled grunt from inside the tent, and then the sound of someone snoring. Loudly.

Relieved, Clint walked around the tent until he found the little "skylight." The flap was hanging down, and he peered through the clear plastic window, trying to see what was inside. Nothing was visible in the gloom, so he took a small flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on.

A jumble of sleeping bags, pillows, possibly dead bodies, and unlit lanterns graced the scene. Then one of the bodies moved. A closer look determined that the suspect was wearing star-spangled pajamas. Well, Steve was alive. And Tony must be, too. Yes, there he was. Now that he had rolled over, Clint could see the billionaire's arc reactor glowing in the dark. He pointed the flashlight directly at Steve. "What happened last night?"

"Mrrmph…" Steve yawned, stretched, and then rubbed his eyes. "Huh?"

Tony's mouth was hanging open, and he was snoring like a freight train.

"I said, 'What happened last night'?" Clint repeated.

Steve blinked a few times, squinting up at the flashlight. His blonde 1940s hairstyle was completely flattened on one side, and he had an enormous cowlick on the top of his head. "Huh?" he said again, sounding only slightly more alert.

Clint sighed. "Can you roll the tent back over and get up?"

"…Sure," mumbled Steve. He attempted to shake Tony awake, but soon gave up, as there was no visible response forthcoming.

"I'll help," offered Clint.

The two of them finally managed to get the tent upright again, with much tugging and pushing and grunting. Steve was the first to get dressed and stumble outside, still looking rather bemused, but he did give Clint a sleepy grin.

Then they waited for Tony to emerge.

He didn't.

"Tony?" Clint poked his head inside the tent. The snoring had stopped, but Tony appeared to have tunneled into his sleeping bag like a disgruntled rabbit. The only things sticking out were his legs.

Clint reached in and slowly unzipped the sleeping bag, revealing Tony's befuddled glare. "Go 'way…" he mumbled, rolling over again.

"Fine. Stay if you want to," Steve invited, heading toward the campfire. "I just hope there aren't any more spiders in there…"

That did the trick. Tony exited the tent like it was on fire, wearing nothing but his hot-rod red pajama bottoms. He had just enough time to snatch his tennis shoes on the way out and was putting them on as he went, hopping toward the campfire on one foot.

Clint was impressed. "I've never seen him look more alive."

Steve sighed, delving back into the tent to grab Tony some actual clothes. "We had a bit of a long night. Let's just say that as soon as Natasha gets up, I'm going to be down on my face begging for a transfer."

Back at the campfire, Tony had successfully tied his shoes, and Loki had just arrived on the scene, wearing his usual smirk.

"Mornin'."

Loki zipped up his black sweater and sat down on one of the folding chairs surrounding the fire pit, obviously amused at the sight of Tony's unimpressive attire.

"Coffee?" Tony asked of no one in particular. Then he stumbled back toward his tent. He was sure he had packed some instant coffee packets in his suitcase…

* * *

_That, in case you were wondering, was indeed the peace before the storm. _

_Read on!_

_~Alassiel_


	37. Entry 37: The Banana Spider Fiasco

Entry #37: Camping Trip [or, "The Banana Spider Fiasco"]

Five minutes later, the three stooges (otherwise known as Steve, Clint, and Loki) were huddled around the fire pit. Tony had gone through four suitcases and two duffle bags he had stashed behind the tents, found no instant coffee, and declared it an emergency.

"Have some tea," Clint offered. Tony was not interested.

"Jarvis!" he shouted into his modified cellular phone.

"_Right here, Sir."_

"Get me directions to the nearest Walmart!"

Clint coughed to disguise a laugh. "Um, Tony? We're camping. There are no Walmarts in the woods."

Tony flipped open the last suitcase and stepped into it. "I'll be back for breakfast." The entire company of Avengers watched in amazement as the Iron Man suit began to assemble itself around the billionaire.

"You _brought_ that? I thought you had a pocket-sized version!" exclaimed Clint.

"Too unreliable for everyday use," Tony explained casually. "I'm still perfecting it. This, my friend, is the epitome of reliable technology."

The suit had only made it up to Tony's knees when something clinked, and all movement ceased. Clint, Loki, and Steve all stopped and stared, the first snickering loudly, the second smirking behind his pale hand, and the last looking genuinely concerned.

Tony grumbled something foul and waved to Steve. "Hey! I could use some help over here!"

Steve appeared dubious, obviously expecting an onslaught of big words and technicalities he couldn't quite get a handle on, but approached Stark anyway.

Tony shifted slightly, and the metal around his ankles creaked. "I need you to kick the suitcase," he instructed.

Steve blinked. "What?"

"_Kick. The. Suitcase."_

"That's it?" marveled Steve, aghast.

"YES."

Steve hesitated, and then gave the suitcase a hefty kick. The equipment whirred angrily, and then resumed its normal functions. Within minutes, Tony Stark had made a complete transformation from genius billionaire to the Man of Iron. Now clad in his heavy armor, he stomped to the middle of the clearing and activated his repulsor lifts.

"But Nick Fury said we were all supposed to stay here," Steve reminded him.

"This," Tony said solemnly, "is a Code Red emergency. We're out of coffee."

Steve thought about it for a moment, and then nodded. "I'll man the fort while you're gone," he volunteered. "Try to be back by O-eight-hundred."

Clint rolled his eyes and headed back toward his tent. "You might want to buy a new tent while you're there… You and Steve trashed yours."

"It's not ours," Tony reminded him. "That's the one Phil let us borrow."

"In that case, I'd _definitely_ buy a new one!" And with that, Clint disappeared into his tent.

"Right. I'll be back for lunch."

So saying, Tony took to the skies.

"You think he'll really come back?" Steve asked Clint, not realizing that the archer had left.

Loki shrugged, picking up a bottle of insect repellent and began spraying himself from head to toe. "If he does not, may I transfer to your tent?"

* * *

When Tony Stark, the richest man in Manhattan, stomped, clanked, and clomped his way into Walmart, it was as if the world had ceased revolving on its axis. Everybody stopped and turned to gawk at the billionaire. Dead silence fell over the store. Suddenly the peppy background music seemed overloud.

"Would someone please direct me to the camping supplies?" inquired Tony, turning to a shell-shocked Walmart employee.

The man spluttered for a moment, straightened his blue Wal-mart vest, and then nodded. "Right-right this way, S-sir."

"Thank you."

* * *

Natasha emerged several minutes after Clint left, to find only Steve, Loki, and Thor sitting by the campfire. "Where's Clint?"

"I don't know," said Steve. "I think he's in his tent. He said something about going fishing."

"What about Bruce and Tony?"

"Bruce is still asleep, I think, and Stark—"

"THE MAN OF IRON HAS GONE TO THE REALM OF WALMART." Thor supplied with a beaming smile. "STEVE CLAIMS HE WILL RETURN WITH THAT CHERISHED MORTAL DRINK, 'COFFEE.'"

"Walmart?"

Steve chucked another log on the fire. "Yup. He decided that a coffee shortage counted as an emergency."

Nat rolled her eyes. "Are his suitcases all in your tent?"

"Yeah, most of 'em. And they all decided to gang up on me in the middle of the night. Why?"

Natasha batted her eyelashes at him and stuffed a hand in her sweater pocket. "No reason." Without another word, she marched past the campfire and headed for Tony and Steve's tent.

The demigod snickered quietly, and then reached for a graham cracker.

Steve narrowed his eyes at Loki, feeling a little out of the loop.

* * *

"No, no… something bigger," Tony said dismissively, putting the tent back in its proper place.

The Walmart employee fiddled nervously with his name-tag, and then pointed at a huge box on the very top shelf. "I'm s-sorry, S-sir… that's the largest we have in this s-store."

Tony glanced up at the box, and then back at the employee. "Well, if that's the best you can do, I'll take that and two of those other ones."

"I'll need to get a ladder—"

"That won't be necessary," Tony assured him, activating his repulsor lifts and rocketing toward the ceiling. He snatched the massive box from the shelf and slung it over his metal-clad shoulder. "And now," he continued, lowering himself back to the floor and picking up two smaller boxes, "if you could get me a few of those super-size bags of marshmallows. I'm currently living under the iron fist of a very stingy woman."

"Of-of course!" The shaken employee began to hustle toward the "snacks" aisle, and Tony clanked after him.

"Do you, by any chance, have solar-powered coffee makers?"

The employee stopped, and then glanced nervously over his shoulder at the Iron Man. "Err… solar-powered?"

"Yes."

"N-no, Sir. N-not that I know of…"

"Hrrmph. Well, get me the marshmallows anyway."

"Yes, Sir!" And with that, the employee took to his heels, fairly sprinting down the aisle.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff ran helter-skelter back toward the campfire, yelling at Steve, "IT'S GONE! IT'S GONE!"

Steve bolted upright, knocking over his folding chair, and hurried toward Natasha. "What's gone?" he demanded.

"THE SUITCASE!"

Dr. Banner and Clint both came out of their tent, wide-eyed and disgruntled. Clint was the first to confront the situation. "What suitcase?"

Bruce stayed away from the chaos, blinking sleepily at the scene. He was wearing jeans and hiking boots, and a flannel shirt that had obviously been buttoned up in a hurry.

"THE RED SUITCASE! THE ONE WITH ALL THE METAL POCKETS IN IT!"

Clint sighed, obviously chagrined. "You mean his Iron Man suite?"

"…Was that what it was?" Natasha asked, sounding shaken.

"Well, if it was, it's gone now. Why on earth would you need his suitcase?"

Natasha had buried her face in her hands and collapsed in a folding chair, sobbing hysterically.

Steve, Clint, Bruce, Thor, and Loki all looked at each other in shock.

"Umm, Nat?" Clint put a hand on her shoulder. "Do you wanna tell us what's going on here?"

Nat stopped crying just long enough to say two words: "Mister Fuzzwell!"

Loki smirked, Steve did a facepalm, Thor looked baffled, and Bruce just stood to one side, silently observing the goings-on.

Clint groaned in despair, suddenly going pale. "Oh nooooo… Why did you bring that _thing_ along?"

Natasha sniffled, wiping away another tear. "Because!" she exclaimed. "Nobody would babysit him for me… And I didn't want him to be lonely."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "I think a better question is, how did he end up in Tony's suitcase?"

Nat unzipped her jacket and withdrew Mr. Fuzzwell's tiny wire mesh cage. "It broke," she said pitifully. "I had to put him _somewhere_ while I fixed it…"

"And now Mr. Stark has a _Phoneutria Arachnida _trapped in his Iron Man suit," Bruce finished slowly, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Alright," Clint said firmly, looking like a man who was pronouncing a death sentence. "Who wants to call Tony?"

"NOT ME!" was the resounding cry.

Loki looked up with a smirk. "I would cherish the opportunity."

* * *

_I simply couldn't resist!_

_Review, and I promise I won't make you wait as long as last time... *shameface*_

_~Alassiel_


	38. Entry 38: A Situation

_Uploading this entry sooner than I thought I would, but... I was bored. :) _

_Actually, truth be told, I am currently trying to avoid cleaning That-Deep-And-Unbreachable-Abyss-Which-May-Or-May- Not-Have-Once-Been-My-Bedroom. At this point, I'm ready and willing to simply throw everything in the closet and bar it closed with my desk chair. Eheheh..._

_That notwithstanding, I hope you enjoy the following!_

* * *

Entry #38: Camping Trip [or, "A Situation"]

Tony clumped toward the checkout line, carrying three massive boxes, four giant bags of marshmallows, a few bottles of Dr. Pepper, several cans of mosquito repellent, some insecticide, a large bag of M&M's, and eight packages of instant coffee.

Everybody who had been standing in line at the number six register immediately scattered.

The cashier flinched as Tony dumped everything on the conveyor belt. Two bags of marshmallows and an instant coffee packet hit the floor. Tony bent over to pick them up and accidentally hit his helmet on the counter with a tremendous _thunk_.

After shouting several choice words, he cleared his throat and glanced at the cashier. "How much do I owe you?"

"Three-hundred seventy-five dollars and sixty-two cents."

Tony pulled out his wallet, which he had thought to bring along with him, and then fumbled through his dollar bills. "I only have two hundred…"

"We take credit?" she suggested timidly.

At that moment, Tony's built-in phone started ringing. His own caller ID popped up on his helmet screen. "Apparently I'm calling myself," he muttered, mentally glaring at whoever had stolen his cell phone. "Jarvis, put 'em on hold."

"_I'm sorry, Sir, but it appears to be urgent. I suggest you take this call."_

Tony handed a credit card to the cashier and then grumbled, "Please excuse me. …Hello?"

There was a brief pause, and then an irritatingly familiar, much-too-pleased male voice. _"Is this Anthony Edward Stark?"_

"Beat it, Wonder Boy," growled Tony.

"_I have a message for you. From your little team of self-proclaimed superheroes."_

Tony accepted his credit card, which had been handed back to him, and hefted three plastic bags over one arm and two huge boxes under the other. "Well? Spill it."

"_Spill it?"_

"Cut to the chase. Spit it out."

"_Oh, I see."_ Loki sounded vaguely bewildered, but pressed on with his message. _"I have been instructed to inform you of the presence of one rather loathsome intruder in your general vicinity." _

Rolling his eyes, Tony headed for the automatic doors. "Don't tell me: you're in the Wal-mart parking lot."

"_Hardly. I am neither small, nor furry, nor fanged."_

"Wow. Could have fooled me."

"_Nor do I have eight legs."_

"…So there's a mutant kitten in the parking lot. Oh, I'm scared now!" Tony grumbled, striding through the doors. "Don't you have better things to do than prank-call people with MY cell phone?"

"_It seems that subtlety is not going to be an effective means of communication with you mortals."_

"Subtlety is my middle name," protested Tony. "And here's a subtle piece of advice: GET THE HECK OFF MY CELL PHONE OR I'LL SIC JARVIS ON YOU!"

"_Again with the imaginary friends,"_ Loki drawled. _"I think you're a bit old for that—"_

Another, more irritated, and much more _female_ voice cut through his mocking tones. _"This isn't working. Gimme the phone."_

"_Only if you let me transfer to Steve's tent."_

"_Loki, give it to me."_

"_No."_

"_Give it to me! …Clinton! Come over here!"_

"_What am I supposed to do about it?"_

"_Make him give me the phone."_

"_Why me?"_

"_Because she is a mortal, of course, and respects my position of superiority as a god."_

"_No: because if_ I_ take it from you, you'll be getting a contusion in return!"_

"_Just hand her the phone."_

"_I shall not."_

"_Okay. I'm stressed. I'm outta here."_

"_Wha—Bruce! Where are you going?"_

"_Loki! Give me that phone right now!"_

"_Or what? You'll put him in time-out?"_

"_Can we just be nice to each other for five minutes? Come on, guys. Loyalty! Patriotism! Team bonding! Isn't that what this whole camping trip is about?"_

"_We're having a situation here!"_

"_When Tony finds out about this—"_

Tony, now standing in the middle of the parking lot, shouted, "FINDS OUT ABOUT WHAT?!"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. Then Clint's voice said, _"Do you remember the… well, Mister… er… Mister Fuzzwell?"_

Tony grumbled. "You mean the thing that almost gave me a stroke at Nick Fury's office meeting?"

"_Yeah. That."_

Tony gave an involuntary shudder. "Guh! Spiders. Can't stand 'em."

"_In that case, you might want to get out of that Iron Man suit as fast as possible."_

Tony narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"

"_Oh, no reason."_ Clint's voice now sounded a bit strained. _"Just that Natasha accidentally put Mister Fuzzwell in your suitcase this morning."_

"WHAT?!" Tony shrieked. "Get it out of there! I don't want that thing—I just—ew! That's not right! And what was she doing rifling through my suitcases?!"

"_Not those suitcases, Tony. The special one you brought. The red one with the gold racing stripes on the front."_

"The red one with the…"

And then it hit him.

"_Um, Tony? Are you there? Did you faint? Are you okay? Hello! Tony?"_

For a moment, Tony couldn't breathe. His vision went fuzzy. His legs turned to mush. His heart skipped a beat.

And then—

* * *

Clint held the phone away from his ear as a piercing wail emanated from the speaker. It was then drowned in a wave of curse words and static. Moments later, the signal was completely cut off.

"Tony?"

There was no reply.

Clint hung up the cell, and then tossed it to Steve. Steve gave Clint a look, pocketed it, and then crossed his arms. "Now what?"

Natasha sighed and paced the campfire circle. "I guess we wait for him to get back."

"I'd love to stick around," Clint said hastily, marching toward the edge of the clearing, "but, unfortunately, I'm going fishing with Dr. Banner…"

"Coward!" Nat called after him.

Clint flinched, but kept walking. "I have been called many things in my life, but 'coward' is NOT one of them. I'm just being…"

"A scaredy-cat?"

"I prefer the term, 'foresightful.'"

Natasha waved him off and plopped into a folding chair. "Oh, Mister Fuzzwell," she moaned. "I'm so sorry I let this happen to you…"

Steve patted her awkwardly on the head. "Don't worry, Miss Romanoff. We'll get him back for you."

Natasha wiped a tear from her cheek and nodded silently, like a reassured child.

Loki looked up at the wispy clouds expectantly, twiddling his thumbs, as if he were waiting for Iron Man to simply fall out of the sky.

Meanwhile, Thor had discovered Natasha's secret chocolate stash and was surreptitiously nibbling on a Hershey's bar.

* * *

"So, do you go fishing a lot?"

Bruce nodded, baiting his hook with some sparkly putty-like substance. "I find it very relaxing."

Both Avengers cast their lines, and then sat down on the bank to wait for a catch.

For several minutes, there was nothing but silence.

Then Clint heard a strange sound that reminded him vaguely of the time Fluffy's tail had been caught beneath the rocking chair. Seconds later, a red and gold lightning bolt streaked across the sky.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but didn't take his eyes off his fishing bobber.

Clint shifted slightly, unsettled. "Do you think he'll survive?"

"You mean the impending crash-landing, or the inevitable mental trauma?"

"Either or."

* * *

_Happy 4th everyone! __Here's to many more years of Independance... _

_One nation under God__!_

_~Alassiel_

_P.S. I hope the "unseen conversation" over the phone was understandable. I did my best to make it clear who was speaking at what point in the dialogue._

_P.P.S. Review for another update! ;)_


	39. Entry 39: Breakfast and Coffee

_Hello, Everyone! _

_I have an announcement: Starting Monday, I will be devoting most of my free time to my novel, which I hope to have published by this time next year. As you can probably guess, this will leave very little time for fanfiction, and what little I do have will probably be devoted to "Case Red" or one of my other pet projects. This may very well be the last entry uploaded for a while. Hopefully I'll find the time to pick it up again someday in the not-so-distant future, but I can't make any promises._

_I hope you've enjoyed "How to Live with a Demigod 101," and that the memory of our team's antics will continue to make you laugh!_

_Thank you so much for all of the reviews, favorites, follows, and encouragement - you've been a wonderful audience..._

* * *

Entry #39: Camping Trip [or, "Breakfast and Coffee"]

"I saw him land right over there!" Steve insisted, pointing toward the northeast.

Loki arched a slender eyebrow. "'Land' is far too generous a word."

"Crashed. He crashed right over there."

Natasha was about to run in that direction when Thor reached out and gently stopped her. "ALLOW ME, LADY ROMANOFF."

Steve shrugged. "We'll be seeing him soon, I'm sure."

"With or without Mr. Fuzzwell?!" wailed Natasha.

"Either way, there's nothing you can do about it now. He's probably already hightailing it back here."

"THE CAPTAIN OF AMERICA IS RIGHT, LADY ROMANOFF. THE MAN OF IRON WILL BE HERE MOMENTARILY."

Natasha sighed and glanced up at Thor—just in time to see him brush a few crumbles of chocolate from his short blonde beard. "What are you…!"

Thor quickly hid the crumpled-up Hershey's package behind his back. "I NEEDED SUSTENANCE!"

In an instant, Natasha's tearful 'pity-me' face vanished, replaced by a thunderous expression that would have rivaled any lightning storm Thor could have conjured up. "Hand over the bag," she demanded, holding out a hand.

Thor sheepishly did as she requested.

Natasha stared at the crumpled plastic bag, and then turned it upside down.

Nothing.

She shook it, and a few meager crumbs fell to the ground.

"Thor…"

Thor gave Natasha his most convincing, puppy-eyed, I'm-so-sorry-I-didn't-mean-to look.

Unfortunately, Nat was no stranger to such looks. She'd gotten them quite a lot from Clint. "You ate. My chocolate," she growled. "All of it."

Thor seated himself in one of the folding chairs—which was much too small for his bulk and creaked ominously—and folded his hands in his lap, looking like a scolded school-boy.

Natasha gave the colossal demigod a severe stare. "Therefore," she passed her sentence imperiously, "you shall have no dessert tonight after dinner."

"Nobody will," Steve pointed out. "He ate it all."

Nat whirled on Steve, but before she could lecture him, there came a loud rustling from the edge of the clearing.

All four of them glanced over their shoulders just in time to see one seriously disgruntled Tony Stark emerge from the trees like a specter of doom. His hair was askew, and one eyebrow appeared to have been slightly singed. Bits of twigs, foliage, and dirt clung to his rumpled clothes. Mark VII was nowhere to be seen.

A half-melted Walmart grocery bag dangled from one hand. Several marshmallows were stuck to the billionaire's ruined T-shirt, and what might once have been chocolate bars was now dripping from the grocery bag in long, gooey strings.

"Good morning!" Loki grinned and waved cheerfully, and then bit delicately into his third graham cracker of the day.

"…Is it?" Something in Tony's voice made it very clear that to give a reply of any sort would be to sign your own death warrant.

Natasha slowly reached out and took the melted groceries from Tony, pinching the plastic handles between her thumb and forefinger as more chocolate oozed from a tear in the bag. "Is this it?" she asked dryly.

Tony walked stiffly over to the campfire, and then sat down in one of the folding chairs with a partially stifled groan. "…back there." He pointed wearily in the direction from which he had come.

"And where is Mister Fuzzwell?"

An irate stare was Tony's only reply.

With a small squeak, Natasha dropped the grocery bag and ran in the direction indicated. She was out of sight in moments. Steve ran after her, yelling something about an escort, and Loki stared after them with an amused expression.

Tony glared at the abandoned grocery bag, tried to get up, and then collapsed back into the folding chair. He thought for a moment, and then said, "Loki. Get me the bag."

Loki gave him a flat stare, and continued to nibble on his graham cracker.

"You're our prisoner. Consider yourself part of an inmate work crew."

Still no reply. Only a vague smirk.

Tony grumbled something unintelligible. "Loki, if you get me that bag, you won't have to share a tent with Dr. Banner and Clint anymore. I'll move in to their tent, and you can move in to Steve's."

Apparently, Loki found that an agreeable trade, and—after stretching luxuriously like a sleepy cat—he sauntered over to the other side of the campfire, retrieved the grocery bag, and set it down on the ground by Tony's chair.

"Now open it up and find the instant coffee packets."

"That was not a part of our negotiations," Loki said arrogantly, lifting his chin and glaring down his nose at Tony.

Tony glared back, but felt that he was at a distinct disadvantage. Finally, he said, "If you don't find the instant coffee packets, the deal is off. And not only is the deal off, but I'll put a whoopee cushion in Dr. Banner's sleeping bag."

Loki wasn't sure what a 'whoopee cushion' was, but he decided that it would be better not to find out. So he fished out two instant coffee packets for Tony Stark, and dropped them unceremoniously in his lap.

"Great. Now boil some water."

Loki turned around with a mortified look on his face and opened his mouth to reply, but thankfully Natasha and Steve reappeared before he could say a word.

Natasha held something lovingly in both hands, and Steve was walking several paces behind her, carrying three huge boxes and several more mostly-intact grocery bags.

"I found him!" crowed Nat, holding up a little wire mesh cage.

Tony immediately bounced up from the chair, grabbed the instant coffee packets, and sidled around to the other side of the campfire. "You!" he shouted. "What were you thinking?!"

Natasha stuffed Mister Fuzzwell in her sweater pocket and held out an empty hand. "I'm thinking I'll make it up to you by preparing your instant coffee."

Tony glared and held his coffee packets protectively against his arc reactor, which appeared to be on the verge of spazzing out. "You're gonna have to do a lot more than fix one little pot of coffee! You put my LIFE in danger!"

Nat gave him a look. "Well?"

Tony sat back down in the chair and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head and putting his feet up on Loki's armrest. The demigod glared at him, to no affect.

"I want to be waited on hand and foot," Tony demanded.

"For how long?"

"All day. I want you to make me coffee and set up my new tent."

Natasha put her hands on her hips, but said only, "And?"

"Fix me something special for dinner."

"And?"

"Iron all my clothes."

Nat raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I see. What else?"

Tony rolled his eyes back in his head and thought for a moment. "After that, you can fan me with a palm leaf for a few hours..." He smirked at the thought. "Now, bring me a bonbon."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You're getting breakfast and coffee."

* * *

_Farewell for now! Any entries from this point forward will be a bonus. ;) I'm not saying I'm going to entirely abandon this fanfiction - it's been a joy to write! - but it will be on an indefinite hiatus. And, of course, I will be continuing to co-author Insanity's wonderfully dark and angsty Avengers fic, "Case Red." _

_In the meantime, God bless you all!_

_~Alassiel_


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